


555

by GhostHost



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Comfort, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Ethical Issues, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sticky, Toys, movement restriction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with being the only psychotherapist in the entire army is that everyone is your patient. It's a good thing Ratchet outranks Rung as CMO-and even better, he’s pullin’ rank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 555

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to all the peeps on Tumblr that caused my dash to be full of Rung/Drift/Ratchet. This went from a Rung/Skids Rung/Ratchet fic to an ot3, because I could not get that image out of my head.
> 
> 555  
> Mystery Skulls
> 
> “So please don't look into my eyes  
> You might just see the other side  
> There lie some secrets deep in mine  
> "Can't you pretend it's all okay?"

Rung almost never received after hour visitors. Or, rather, Rung only ever received _one_  such visitor, and so, when his door buzzed long after he’d seen his last patient off, Rung knew immediately who was on the other side.  

He stared at the door, tilting his head. Drawing the moment out. The third time the chime sounded, he slowly rose from his chair.  Rather than acknowledge he'd heard anything, he walked over to his cabinets-unlocking one and being rather loud about pulling down a few glasses and an old bottle of engex. It was a favorite, both of his and the mech who was now holding the buzzer down.  Rung slowly poured the drinks, making sure just the right amount went in to each glass. Carefully-one shouldn't over pour. 

His internal comm started to ping. 

Rung smiled to himself, slowing down even more, allowing for a bit of mischief. He pulled two energon sticks from his drawer, making sure to grab flavors that complimented the engex well. He placed them in the drinks, watched as they slowly melted down. He arranged the whole thing on his desk, and then, finally,  strolled to the door.

He was not one to anthropomorphize inanimate objects, but he got the impression it was absolutely furious. The thought widened his smile.

He opened it to the sight of a greatly annoyed senior medic. 

“Really, Rung?” Ratchet grumbled at him. He swept past the therapist the second the smaller bot stepped aside. "Do you really have to do this, every single time?" 

“My apologies. I hope I didn’t keep you long?” Rung asked sweetly, ignoring the question. 

“You damn well know you did, you aft.” Ratchet said darkly, striding over to Rung’s desk. He swiped one of the drinks and plopped down in Rung’s chair with an x-vent-thus forcing Rung to take the patient berth. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rung maintained the innocent air, but let his EM field playfully bounced against Ratchet’s. The medic rolled his optics and took a large sip out of his drink. He eyed Rung as the therapist sat down, grabbing his own drink.

Ratchet  come here for a reason, but he knew he couldn’t go right at it. Rung needed to have a few more of those drunks first.

So he leaned back into the chair and  launched directly into a rant about First Aid’s and Ambulon’s latest spat. He didn’t get to do this often. He didn’t get the time off that often. (Not, that that was anyone’s fault but his own. The schedule was Ratchet's and Ratchet's alone to mess with.) After a few breems and a number of conversations he regretted, as he always did, not catching up with Rung more. Rung was lonely, in a way that was almost painfully obvious. It'd always been like that-Rung was a mech that tended to court isolation outside of patient contact.

Which was why Ratchet was here.

He couldn't get right to it though. Social conventions and his own guilt wouldn't let him. Instead he talked about the recent fiascoes and gossip aboard the ship until he ran out of them. Then he focused on their captain-goading Rung into talking smack about other mechs was a favorite game of Ratchet’s and Rodimus was an easy target (particularly recently.) The smaller mech always got flustered when he realized he'd stopped being quiet about his dislike of the almost-Prime and was openly admitting it. Ratchet gave himself extra points when the therapist started waving his hands dramatically before he caught himself and cleared his intake with a cough. 

His success was short lived though-and they both knew it.

“You didn’t come here to talk about Rodimus.” Rung guessed, after finally giving up on insisting his last statement wasn't meant to be an insult. Which, wasn't surprising really, that he'd picked up on it. Ratchet had known him since medical school. They more than a million years of friendship spanning between them-even if a good number of it was spent without ever contacting the other. They were the type to merely pick where they left off. Always had been-always will be. It leant them more than a touch of inner knowledge about the other-things like body language and knowing when the other had an agenda. 

Ratchet snorted. “No I did not. I came here to talk about you.”

“Me?” Rung shuttered his optics. Ratchet knew, because he heard them.

“Mmm.” The medic nodded. “You and your sad lack of a love life.”

Frustration shot through his field and Rung struggled to tamper it down. “I thought we were done with this.” He said it flatly. Ratchet didn't blame him for it-they had previously agreed to not bring it up. That was, of course, then. It was different now. 

“That was before. I’m only bringing it up now due to how you’ve been acting.” Ratchet countered.

Rung’s eyebrows drew up. “And what actions of mine have risen this conversation from the grave?” He said, trying not to let the bite of exasperation come through his tone. 

The medic sat his drink down and raised a hand, counting off on fingers as he spoke. “You’ve been in the rec areas more often.  You’ve been more assertive in conversations. You’ve been drinking more. You’ve been getting out of the ship more. And most importantly-” He leveled his best I-know-all stare, “-you follow him around like a lovesick sparkling.”

“I do not!” Rung protested immediately, offended, only to wince as Ratchet’s look turned triumphant, realizing he'd been baited. “I am not following anyone around.” He clarified. “Pardon me for finally getting to a point where I am somewhat socially comfortable-”

Ratchet snorted, interrupting him. “All that slag I just listed? Yeah, you only do it around him. You’re busted, buddy.”

“Do not call me buddy.” 

“Sure thing, buddy.” Ratchet said, if only to get back at Rung for the door game. “Lately _Rodimus_ has been less subtle than you. You light up whenever Skids is around, and you look like the world punched you every time you go to hang out with him and he's not in the bar.”

“Those are serious exaggerations and you know it.” Rung said-the Rodimus comment, no doubt stinging. Ratchet just let his stare work its magic.

Rung took longer to break than most, but he did break. They all did, given enough time.

“Even if I did have romantic feelings for another mech, you know just as well a I do that I cannot act on them.” Rung said finally, taking his glasses off with a sigh. He pulled a cleaning cloth out and rubbing at them, revealing tired optics to Ratchet.

“You know my stance on that.” Ratchet crossed his arms, settling back against his chair. 

“Just as you know my own.” Not a lot of mechs knew Rung could pull off a scary enough judgmental glare to be effective. Ratchet knew, because Ratchet had once spent two weeks schooling him on it back in medical school, and thus the look was completely ineffective against him-but the emotions behind it were conveyed.

Ratchet vented. Rung was right, they’d argued this too many times before-it’d just go in circles if he tried again.

Time to change tactics.

”What would you say to an Autobot who needed to be in a romantic relationship? Whose performance was effected by the lack of one, but who was put in place of a large number of mechs? One whose position meant that even if they stepped down, they would still hold a place of power over everyone around them because of who they were and what they do? Whose superiors were out of reach? Would their position of power mean they could never be in a relationship?" It was a  lot of questions at once, but Rung was used to them. Used to this format even, as he and Ratchet discussed actual patients this way.  "What answer would you have for them?”

Rung thought about it. “Their position of power would mean that no, they could not, ethically, pursue a relationship with any of their mechs. The risk of taking advantage is just too great-the same it is with me and my patients. The obvious answer is for them to seek a relationship with mechs who were not under their power-”

“So what? A neutral? Are you seriously telling me you want me to tell a mech to believe in a fairy tell where they fall in love with a neutral who magically shows up, somehow gets past all their own issues involving our great war and decides to stick around?”

“No." Rung gave him a flat glare. "I am just stating that unfortunately, that’s the best case scenario. I am well aware that it is anchored in the realm of fantasy and even if such a scenario did present itself the various problems that would arise from such a union would make it problematic. The most realistic scenario,” and here Rung sighed, vents fluttering, because Ratchet was about to get exactly what he wanted, “is to tell the mech in question that our war has greatly disrupted how we as a species do things. It is important that ethics are kept to high standards, but a mech cannot be expected to remain celibate for thousands of years because of war. We have to adapt our society as well as ourselves to suite our surroundings and unfortunately," A larger sigh that shook the orange bots entire body, "-ethics have to be modified and adapted along with us. That said-” He held up a finger to stop Ratchet, whose mouth was opening to announce his victory, “ -there are proper ways to do it.

If the mech in question has as much power as you say then it would be best to absolutely clarify to the parties they pursued that any rejections or negative actions that came from any attempts at a relationship would not affect their lives and careers. Outs would need to be given in case the mechs were no longer comfortable staying in their own units. A third, neutral party should be involved, to give both mechs the chance to speak outside their roles about their current situations, and allow both parties escape routes and options should things go badly." Ratchet tried to speak again and was cut off by a rust stick smacked against his hand. He hadn't even seen Rung pull one out, the fragger.

 "Steps would have to be taken to ensure no one was being taken advantage of. That includes not only the lesser powered mech but the mech who has power. That neutral party would, of course, by someone like, “oh, say, a therapist." He gave the CMO a pointed look. "Therein lies my problem, Ratchet. I am well aware of how far our war has displaced us from the old ways. I am well aware how some things have to be changed-there is simply no getting around it after all that’s happened. I have allowed myself some friendships even. But my role in this army is even less flexible than that of those in power, because I have to be there for them and our species as a whole.”

Ratchet shook his head, before letting amused look grace his face. “Do you now?” He said. His voice was serious but his face ruined the stoicism he was trying for. “I’ll be sure to tell that to Optimus Prime, he’ll be so relieved to know that he can pursue a romantic relationship as long as you’re there to supervise.”

Rung rolled his eyes. Ratchet had to wonder how often he did that on a daily basis-the mech had glasses for a reason. “I did not mean it like-Optimus Prime?”

“Why yes.” There was that devil smirk, as Ratchet unveiled the trap he'd set-”The mech we were just speaking of. Requires a romantic relationship, lack of one affects performance, in charge of a lot of mechs? Ring a bell?”

“You said his superiors-”

“Are out of reach. Which they are-you try reaching Primus himself for a conversation. See how well you do.” Nevermind that Ratchet personally did not believe for a second that Primus existed, the point was that Optimus did and thus made his argument perfectly valid. 

Rung sputtered. “That’s an entirely different situation!”

“No, Rung, it’s not. Not really.” Ratchet hit him with another thousand yard stare, this one serious. Rung pretended not to notice. “You can’t hurt your own mental health under the guise of heroism, or ethics, or anything of that sort. It is not fair to your patients, just as it isn’t fair to Optimus’s men to short change yourself like that. You deserve to be just as happy as everyone else.You can’t help people to your fullest ability when you're miserable. It took me vorns to beat that into Optimus and so help me, if I have to, I’ll do it all over again to beat it into you too.”

Run returned his stare evenly. “I’m not miserable.” He lied. Ratchet knew it was a lie, because; 

“Swerve’s been asking if you’ve come down with a virus.”

A long pause. Rung's field flickered, his face crumpling a touch as he finally, admitted some form of defeat. 

“Have I really been that noticeable?” He whispered, shoulder's sagging. 

“I did just say that Swerve asked, didn’t I?” Ratchet said, reaching over to pat Rung's hands. His friend had given him a hell of a fight-still would, no doubt-but acceptance was still a step to celebrate. 

“I had not realized-I did want my own mood to affect others-”

“But you did and you’ll continue to do so, as long as you keep bottling up emotions like this. You’re a damn therapist Rung. I shouldn’t have to tell you what happens when a mech’s been holding back like you have.”

“I-” Rung paused. What would he have told a mech in his place? He knew what Ratchet expected him to say, but the reality just wasn’t as black and white as Ratchet was making it out to be.

“I took a medical oath, Ratchet.” Rung said, a little shakier than he had been before. “I made a promise to my patients. I can’t risk harming others. I-” He looked away now, focusing on one of his little ships instead of Ratchet’s intense optics. The humor, even Ratchet's barbed one, having left the room entirely. “I don’t have it in me to break it. I know that technically, there is no ethics board right now but that doesn’t mean we should throw all our rules out the window! Someone has to uphold these laws. My own problems, my own issues, should not come before my patients well being!”

“But they are.” Ratchet argued. “They are absolutely getting in the way of your job. I understand the ethics issue, Rung. I get it. To start a relationship with a patient is the biggest sin a medical professional can commit. It defies all logic in you to do so, it defies who you are." He got that. He did. Because he'd been there too.

It did give him a bit of an edge though, considering Ratchet had had this conversation already-with himself. "But everyone is your patient Rung, or has been, or will be. Even if you never see them for a session you’ll still write reports on them, or be called to check on their histories. Something will come up. Something will always come up. That knowledge won’t ease the hole in your spark. Take it from me, that hole will just get bigger until you either do something about it or let it consume you. I’ve seen both happen Rung. I can’t treat poison like that. that’s your field and you know exactly what it means.” He let that sink in for a moment, before continuing, in a softer voice; “I made my choices long ago and I don’t regret them, because they have allowed me to live far longer than I would have. You have to make your decisions now.” Ratchet leaned forward, thoroughly invading Rung’s space. “I’m just here to tell you that it’s worth it. No one can openly judge you Rung. With all the shit they’ve done in the name of ending this war-no mech among us can honestly fault you for trying to find love.”

Rung stared at Ratchet for a long moment, obviously conflicted.

“Promise me, at least, “Ratchet said after the silence dragged on, “that you’ll think about it. Do it for an old friend.”

A small smile graced Rung’s faceplates then, and the therapist allowed his head to fall forward, gently connecting with Ratchets. “I think I can do that.” He said, softly.

“You’d better.” Ratchet grumped, and Rung chuckled, as his friend returned to his normal gruff self.

Ratchet stayed for a short while after, long enough for another round of drinks and a few old stories. Rung relaxed and enjoyed himself, in a way he rarely got too. Even then, it was obvious he was distracted and it wasn’t long before he was left alone with his thoughts.

He idly tapped at his table, before grimacing and clearing his calendar for tomorrow. He wasn’t going to be able to properly handle any patients, not until he had this all sorted out.

He had a lot to think about.


	2. Hellbent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Apparently there’s a giant button in my head labeled “sex scene” and the plot bunnies mashed the hell out of it (so this fic now has 200% more porn than originally intended.) On the bright side I wrote most of it backwards, so the other chapters should be up fairly quickly. And a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed! Y’all are special, feel the specialness.
> 
> Pairings for this chapter: Rung/Skids and Ratchet/Drift. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, rough sex, sticky, oral, face sitting, lots and lots of fingering, continued subbing (there’s gotta be a name for that. Not a full time or part time sub but subbing beyond a scene, essentially.) orgasm denial, dirty talk, and pain with sex. Rung goes into a sort of unhealthy mindset there, letting Skids push him and pushing himself before he's ready. It there's anything else, let me know!

 

Hellbent

Mystery Skulls Ft.  Snowblood

I've been hellbent, baby  
Hellbent on loving you  
All day long  
Hellbent on drugs  
'Cause they turn you on  
Don't know what else to do

* * *

 

“You sure you’re alright?” Drift asked, talking directly into Ratchet’s audios as he moved to sit down next to the medic. He did it in such a way that his mouth was blocked from the rest of the room, vocalizer so low that only Ratchet could hear him.

“Alright? No. Beyond fragging happy he’s finally doing this? Yes.” Ratchet grumped, quite a bit louder. They were in a corner of Swerve’s, far enough away from everyone else that Ratchet knew no one would overhear. Normally he would have appreciated Drift’s caution, but right now he was more annoyed that they were having this conversation _yet again_.  It’d only been a week or two since he’d spoken to Rung, but Drift could pester like none other when possessed to do so.

On the bright side, Ratchet finally understood why Drift remained such good friends with Rodimus, despite the Captains glaring flaws. 

“Just checking.” Drift said, at normal volume. “He  is the only one we could both decide on as a possible third for us. Letting him go just seems, well," Drift paused, reaching for something unoffensive. He settled on; "Not like you.”

“Considering who you suggested as other options, that isn’t a surprise.” Ratchet wasn’t ready to let his grouchiness go, not just yet. Drift didn’t care, he knew his medic wasn’t quite out of his work mindset. He’d relax in a minute. The TIC would have waited to bring this up, but Rung had begun making his way over to Skids. He'd been sitting with the theoretician for the past few nights at the bar, but today was different. They all knew Rung had been working up to today-when he was going to make his move.

That is, if Skids didn’t beat him to it.

Their conversation paused as they watched Rung slide into the booth, small smile gracing his face as Skids scooted over.

“He’d have turned us down anyway.” Ratchet said, watching Skids whisper into Rung’s audios.

“Because he turned you down previously? Didn’t you say that was back in medical school?” Drift arched an optic at Ratchet. “ Mechs can change their minds, you know.”

Ratchet turned his attention from Rung to Drift. He pointedly caught Drift’s optics, then let them run his own run their way up and down his mate's body. His field reached out, caressing, teasing.  “Oh,” He said, voice finally dropping out of its patented pissed-off tone and into something of a purr, “I know.” Ratchet moved closer, reaching out to trace a sensitive seam on Drift’s hip. “But I think we should leave Rung to Skids. Focus on something else for a night, hmm?”

Drift’s engine revved, the speedster’s gaze locked onto Ratchet’s own. “If you insist.”

Ratchet leaned in closer, letting the heat of his frame lick at Drift’s.

“I do.”

He grinned as Drift’s cooling fans made a choked noise.

xXx

 

Rung laughed quietly at Skids. The latter grinned at him, having just finished a tale involving a mishap with his grappling hook. It was late-later than Rung usually stayed out, but he wasn’t here to go home alone. Not this time.

He just had to work up the courage to ask.

“What do you say you and I get out of here?” Skids whispered, and Rung was nervous and relieved all at once. He doesn’t have to say it and even better, he wasn’t reading Skids wrong. Not that anyone within the vicinity of the bar was reading the pair wrong-mechs Rung barely spoke to outside of sessions had made passing comments about the two of them. Rung wasn’t comfortable with the attention-had never been when it came to his private life and especially with how conflicted he still was ethically-but this time, it had reassured him. A little, tiny bit, under all the doubt and worry, the entire week he’d spent debating whether or not to even try. It was enough to make him continue-to let him know it was okay to continue. That Skids wanted it and others wanted it for them.

“I think that would be delightful.” Rung whispered back.

Skids smile was infectious, and Rung found himself copying it as they walked out of the bar, hands hopelessly tangled.

They barely made it to Rung’s habsuite.

The door hadn’t fully closed before Skids was on him. Rung barely bit back a surprised "Oof!" as he found himself slammed against the wall. His glasses were removed, chucked carelessly onto the berth. Rung almost protested-except Skids pressed against him. His interface panel was already heated- he ground against Rung, engulfing him in warmth. Cooling fans roared to life- _’Primus how long had he been holding back?’_ Rung thought, a little dazed. Clearly Skids had been ready for a while-but he was making it clear he was done waiting.

Any objection Rung had died in his intake right there. He’d blame it on the unusual amount of engex he’d had later-but just then he wanted to stop thinking about it all for a night. Go with things. Get something that he wanted underneath all the issues he felt he faced.

Skids wanted it hard and fast, judging by his current actions, anyway.

Rung smiled.

He could do that.

Rung reached up, encircling his arms around Skid’s neck. His lips were covered immediately, Skids glossa in his mouth before being properly invited in. Rung opened wider, gave him access. Let their glossa’s tangle and twirl against one another.

Skids hands traced the biolights on his chest, followed them down lower. One dug into the seams at Rung’s hips, making him gasp-the other tapped at his valve cover.

“Open.” Skids said, vocalizer husky.

Rung spread his legs as wide as he could get them and obeyed, the covering opening with a soft ' _snckt.'_ He expected Skids to go for it immediately, the way he was grinding, but he didn't. Instead, the spy pulled the hand near his valve up, higher and higher, until it hovered near Rung's face. Rung tried to whine, to protest because while sweet that wasn't what he wanted-only to have Skids break their kiss. He made it  it sloppy and letting the fluids string across their lips. He ran a hand down his own face slowly, coating his fingers with it- then brushed against Rung’s, clearing intending to coat his too.  Rung had other ideas-he sucked his fingers into his mouth greedily. 

“Frag yes.” The theoretician's voice deepened with lust, letting the smaller mech suck and swirl. He left them there for a moment, enjoying the sensations, before growing impatient and pulling his fingers out of Rung's mouth. Rung didn't want to let them go, sucked in his so his lips caused drag. Skids watched raptly but wasted no time when his fingers finally pulled free. His hand sunk lower, the tips gliding against Rung's hot array, before finding his valve. He wanted it hard, wanted the pace to keep up and he didn't bother flirting with the seeking heat. Skids plunged right in, two fingers immediately driving at a fast pace.  

Rung’s head fell forward, landing on Skids shoulder as he gasped. He gave himself over to the pace, hips dancing at Skids command.  How long had it been since he’d been laid? His mind wanted to say before the war, but that couldn’t possibly be right.

Not that it mattered. Right now, the only thing he cared about was impaling himself further on Skid’s fingers. He was in a bad position to do much with his hips, but he did his best, rocking forward with the motion Skids set.

Pain laced his pleasure-Rung's valve hadn't been used at all never alone this roughly in quite some time, but he didn't protest. He just bit down, hands clawing at the back of Skids' neck, letting the pleasure fend off the slight burning stretch. 

"You're tight. So tight." Skids's voice was appreciative, and Rung decided it to be a compliment, as he tried to roll his calipers down Skids' fingers. 

_“Yes.”_   The spy crooned, charge beginning to crackle across their bodies. 

Then Skids _moved_ and the sudden emptiness in Rung’s valve left him reeling. He lifted his helm to look at Skids head on, question on his lips. A grin was the only warning he got as Skids palmed his aft with both hands and then heaved him up, smacking his back against the wall. Rung let out a startled gasp, clutching at Skids’s shoulders and wrapping his legs automatically around Skid’s waist. There was an awkward shuffling moment where they both were precariously balancing and teetering-then Skids lined them up and Rung vocalizer spat static as his flush valve felt the tip of Skid’s spike.

He expected Skids to ram him, prepared himself and tried to relax but Skids had better control than that. The spy slowly let him slide down-sink onto his spike. The groans grew louder, Rung barely able to take the suddenly gentleness, how slow they were going. His own spike pressurized between them, transfluid beading the top. 

Skids spike still stretched him, despite the preparation and Rung realized abruptly he couldn't take the pace.  Bracing against Skids and throwing himself down as best he could,  Rung buried the rest of the spike within him. Skids let out a surprised grunt, his pleasure filling his field.The wall dug into Rung’s back but it was nothing compared to the flash of pain leading a wave of intense pleasure. Rung rode it out, clenching and bracing and chasing the rise of a high.  It was hard though, considering his partner had _stopped moving._

“Skids.” He said and he barely recognized his own voice through the breathy moan. It was apparently enough to kick start Skids though, because after two experimental pumps of the hip to prove that his position was solid enough to do so, Skids pulled out and slammed himself back in, hard enough for knock Rung’s vent cycle off balance.

Rung didn’t tell him to stop-the exact opposite in fact. “Harder.” He’d demanded, “Harder, I won’t break, Skids-!”

“If-you-insist-” Skids panted, and was all to happy to oblige.

The pace he set was excruciating. Brutally fast with the spike hitting the ceiling nodes of Rung's valve. Rung stopped being able to deficient pain from pleasure, everything twisting and cascading together. Faintly, in the part of his mind not lost in a lustful haze, Rung was amazed at Skids’ strength. To be able to hold him up while also going at it like this was an impressive sight to behold, no matter how small he was.

Impressive to feel, for that matter. Rung was _definitely_ feeling it, a keen ripped from his throat as his charge built higher, the euphoria he wanted drawing near. 

Skids bit down hard on his shoulder-the only warning Rung got that he was about to overload-before he did just that, charge thundering through Rung along with the curious feeling of fluid filling his valve. The twin pressures were enough to send Rung over the edge and he came with a yell that shorted out his vocalizer. His legs trembled as they clutched at Skids, calipers rolling, drawing out everything Skids had in him. The charge finally dissipated with processor numbing pleasure, ebbing away slowly. Coherence was slow to come too, and Rung let it pick its own pace, content to bask in the aftershocks of his orgasm.  When he finally came back to the present, It took him a click to realize Skids was still holding them up (if just barely) Rung was amazed he hadn’t toppled them yet, and when his vocalizer came back online he told Skids so.

Skids just gave him a tired, devious grin.

Together they sank to the floor.

After a moment spent fixing their vent cycles and trading breathless compliments, they cleaned themselves up.  Took their time in enjoying each other. Rung offered for Skids to spend the night (he looked dead on his feet _before_   he'd gone at Rung like a turbo fox in heat.) and Skids took him up on it, citing that the demands of prettybots were to never be ignored.

Rung’s face had heated at that. No one-not even the mechs he had dated previously all those centuries ago had called him pretty. He held onto that, his field gently mixing with Skids as they lay together. He finally let his processor slow. Let the exhaustion set in. The pleasure had subsided entirely leaving only a soreness he knew he'd feel more in the morning, but it was worth it. Rung hadn't wanted to disappoint, had wanted to please even if he hadn't been truly physically ready to do so and he accepted the consequences that came from not insisting they'd gone slower. It wasn't as if Skids knew he'd been on a sexual hiatus for nearly half the war.

The last thing saw before falling into recharge was Skid’s face, gentle while offline-and their intertwined hands.  

It was almost too sweet, even for him.

Rung loved it.

xXx

 

They had two more encounters before the rumors caught up. Rung hadn’t thought it would bother him this much, not after he had prepared himself so thoroughly, but he apparently hadn’t accounted for how excited Skids was about the whole thing. He couldn’t blame him though. Rung himself was estatic with the way the relationship had gone. It was so rare for things to go so well, even without the issue of ethics and morals. And sure, they had only just begun, but Rung had a positive outlook on the whole thing. More positive than even he usually came up with. It was special, this relationship. He held onto that thought, that feeling-or at least he did, right up until he ran into Blaster. 

“Congrats, my mech! Was rootin’ for you this whole time.” The wink Blaster threw at him was saucy. Rung fought not to cringe.

“Thank you?” He said, trying not to let his embarrassment show through. Blaster saw it anyway and chuckled.

“Better get used to the compliments! Skids’ has been braggin up and down about the fun you two have had. Not that I blame him.” Rung pretended valiantly that he didn’t see the comms mech give him a pointed once over. “They say the quiet ones know all the best ways to have fun.”

“Skids is, ah, bragging? About us?” Rung wasn’t sure his face could get any hotter. His face proved him otherwise.

“Oh yeah.” Blaster’s grin got impossibly wider. “You better put a muzzle on that one Doc, before he spills it all to the whole ship.”

“Thank you for informing me.” Rung said politely and quickly made his escape. 

Rung knew it had to be something like that to garner _this much_ attention, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He couldn’t ignore it now-but that was fine. So Skids got a little over-excited. What would he have told his patients? To look at this in a good light? That it should help put his fears at ease because it actively disproved them? That the rumors showed that he was still held in a favorable light-no one was calling for his resignation. Yeah, he could handle this. He just had to discuss boundaries that was all. One little conversation. He could do that.

Despite the discomfort of being personally congratulated on having interfaced by seemingly every bot he passed, Rung decided the whole incident was generally a positive one-he should have just been clearer to Skids before they started. Making his own comfort levels clear was on him, and even though he was embarrassed, he was happy enough to whistle as he went to find his loose-lipped lover.

He was even happier no one happened to be in the corner when he had that thought, because the word ‘lover’ gave him a smile loaded with a weightless feeling he felt to his very core. His field was a tidal wave of happiness, and he couldn't contain it. Didn't want too. Everything was just too good. 

Which made it all the harder when things came crashing down around him.

xXx

 

Drift walked carefully, mindful  not to spill the energon he was carrying. He handed Ratchet his cup before settling down on the medic’s berth. They drank them happily in silence for a moment, until Drift finished his and felt compelled to collapse on the bed. Ratchet grumbled at him as he shuffled himself until he was seated comfortably in the medic's lap. 

“Ran into Rung.” He said.

A quiet hum was his only response-Drift grinned lazily. His Ratchet was a terrible morning person.

“Gotta say, he didn’t look all too happy with Skids spreading all that around.” He continued. He personally had caught the tail end of one of Skid’s stories at the bar the night prior, before Rung had shown up. Skids hadn’t appeared to be giving too many details, but he was definitely kissing and telling. Drift didn’t get the feeling he was being malicious-and yet something didn’t sit right. He couldn’t pin it down though, ended up pushing it aside. He wasn’t used to talking so openly about sexual exploits, at least not in a way that was positive and not mockery or meant to destroy the other mechs reputation. Drift knew more than anyone he couldn’t always trust his own instincts when it came to the social interactions of Autobots, and so had turned a blind optic. He wondered now if that was the right call.

Ratchet finally seemed to wake up a bit, his mumbles becoming coherent. “Who would be? Most mechs don’t want their love lives to be the highlight of the month's gossip.”

Drift grinned at him. “You sure about that? Cause I know a few ‘Bots...”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “You know very well most mechs aren’t us. But especially not Rung. He’s a very...private mech.”

“Yeah.” Drift reflected, on the little bot Ratchet called a close friend. “Thinking on it, I barely know anything about him. Most of what I know has come from you.”

“Mmm.  And he wouldn’t be happy about me tellin’ you about him at all. I’m trustin’ you to keep it to yourself.”

Normally Drift would have taken that badly-he had worked hard to prove himself as trustworthy-but he nodded solemnly instead. Ratchet had never told him why, but he knew Rung was closed off for a reason. Didn’t need Ratchet pointing it out to notice it, it’d been obvious after spending a short time in Rung’s company. The aura in his office screamed of a safe place, and not just for Rung’s patients. “Of course.” He said, putting as much honesty as he could in his voice, and Ratchet smiled at the nearly protective undertone of it.

_‘Looks like I’m rubbing off on the kid after all.’_ He thought to himself, amused. He wondered if Rung would ever realize he had a strong ally in Drift.

“Still though,” Drift said, steering the conversation back on topic. “You think it was true? Cause I’m thinking Skids was exaggerating. Rung doesn’t seem like the rough, frag-me-screaming interface type.”

“You’d be surprised at what he’s into.” Was the answer. Along with one of those looks that meant Ratchet was remembering something, lingering over a favored memory. The kind of favored memory that had left lesser mechs gaping in horror upon their retelling.

The fingers that had been tracing circles on Ratchet’s leg paused. “I thought you two never did anything?”

Ratchet laughed lightly, rubbing his own patterns into Drift’s chassis. “Nah. Doesn’t mean we didn’t compare notes. Rung’s a better dom than I am.”

That got a reaction. “You’re kidding.” Drift sat up, disbelief spelled out in his optics. He turned, flipping himself around in Ratchet’s lap, which resulted in him seated on the medic while facing him.

“I mean it kid.” Ratchet said  as Drift readjusted. “I play switch, and I know I go easy. But Rung? He’s a dom through and through. He makes you work for it. You’d love a session with him-if you could handle being put through your paces.”

Drift’s engine rumbled, faking offense when they both knew it was a cover for him quickly switching off his fans. “I am absolutely certain I can handle anything thrown my way.”

“Now that,” Ratchet flicked a sensitive spot on Drift’s hip, “ sounds like a challenge.”

“That depends. You up for one, old mech?”

Ratchet tweaked a wire and leaned in close, lips next to Drift’s audios. “Just remember at the end of today that you started this.” The warning was all Drift got as Ratchet used his larger bulk to flip them over. Drift let him do it, excitement flaring through him as his back hit the berth and Ratchet moved to hover over him.

“Arms above your head.” Ratchet ordered, and Drift nearly smacked him in the face as he obeyed, the auras in the room changing with the tones of their fields.  It never ceased to amaze Drift how fast Ratchet could change gears. It kept him wondering, always unsure, and that combined with the unwavering trust he had in Ratchet led to some of the best frags of Drift’s life.

“Today," Ratchet’s voice pitched lower again, the growl back in it.  " your task is to overload me without touching me or yourself No movements of any kind to help either of our overloads. Think that’s enough of a challenge for you, kid?”

“Yes.” Drift said. His voice was sincere, but his optics sparked. “Master.”

 Ratchet grinned down at him, the words triggering the real beginning of their session. He straddled his speedster, setting his bulk down and letting his heated interface panel grind against Drift’s.

Panels snapped open, cooling fans screamed to life and if it had been anyone other than Ratchet, Drift would have been embarrassed about how quickly he’d been aroused. His valve was already beginning to slicken, his spike swelling within its housing. He let it pressurize, felt Ratchet run his (closed) interface panels over it and shuddered in pleasure. Shuddered again when Ratchet popped his own panels and let his-very hard-spike rub against Drift’s.

“Permission to speak, Master?” Drift said the word master like he said the name Primus-with all the revere of a mech talking to a God. Ratchet would never get tired of that-but he wasn’t dumb enough to be duped by it. In his lifetime he’d had a few subs, and none had challenged him more than Drift. The speedster wiggled out of orders and commands like it was his given mission.

“Depends.” Ratchet slid the tip of his spike against flushed valve lips. Little beads of lubricant raced down, coating the glistening red and white plating. Ratchet reached down, pawed at Drift’s interface array. He continued, rubbing his own tip as well as the rim of Drift's valve, before letting his fingers focus on it entirely.  Ratchet circled it teasingly, letting his fingers get slick with the wetness he found there. He pinched at a valve lip before sinking one finger in, palm towards the ceiling. He allowed Drift to grow accustomed to it for a moment, gently rubbing it in and out before curling and giving the valve ceiling a hard stroke. His effort granted him a groan low in Drift’s throat, vocalizer working hard to keep the static from the ex-con's  voice. “What’s the subject?”

“How I could please you. Descriptions of how I could better serve you.”

“Granted.” Ratchet said. Might as well make this interesting. See what the kid had to offer-it wasn’t often that Drift took the plunge into dirty talk. That was more Ratchet’s territory.

In the meantime, he had slowly been working in a second finger, getting both thoroughly wet. Drift shuddered, his hands clenching the thermal sheets beneath him.

“I’d start by kneeling at your feet. I’d watch you, your every move, as I gave you the massages you-” Drift choked back a cry as Ratchet worked his thumb over his node, while pressing up against the ceiling of his valve at the same time. “des-deserved.” He continued. “I’d start with my fingers, lighting rubbing  your pedes.  I’d continue up your legs, getting them-ah!-relaxed, taking my time,  then finish with your interface array, stroking it lightly, worshiping it.  And every motion I made, every place I touched, I’d go back over, go, _mph!-_ ” He visibly fought with himself as Ratchet added a third finger, desperately trying not to thrust his hips forwards. His fingers threatened to rip the sheets as Ratchet slowed to a torturous pace, taking his time.

“Go back over?” Ratchet encouraged, sounding for all the world like he wasn’t trying to kill Drift from a slowly building charge.

Drift gasped as the medic rolled his node between two fingers. “Mouth!” He almost yelled. “I’d go back over it, exactly, with my mouth! Getting into all the places my servo’s couldn’t. Licking and sucking, making sure every inch was covered. I’d take a whole hour just to pleasure you. Not a bit of your thick spike would go untouched. I’d get deep inside your valve too, mouth your name over and over while I licked you dry, _Master_.”

Fans stalled out as Ratchet abruptly shoved four-four!-fingers into his valve. Drift  tried to keep talking, but the words came out scattered and half formed. After several tries, he managed to get out something coherent. “I’d wait until you were loose and limp and panting in my grasp, and then I’d let you _fuck my mouth_ so hard I’d still feel your spike down my intake for days afterwards.” Ratchet engine leapt into a higher gear at that. It’s exactly what Drift wanted-his mate has no idea Rodimus has been making them watch cheesy human action movies after sword practice. His vocabulary will never compete with his mates (Ratchet can speak fluently in more languages than Drift can name and curse in several more beyond that. He’d simply been to more worlds, downloaded and absorbed more.) but that didn't stop him from learning enough to taunt Ratchet with.

“You know what I think?” And oh Primus, Drift knew that tone of voice,  Ratchet had an idea. Drift wasn’t sure if he could survive one of Ratchet’s berth ideas, at least not currently. He was barely hanging on as it was and he knew better than to overload without permission.

“I think using that mouth of yours is an _excellent_ idea.”  Ratchet’s voice was thick with static, and he drew his fingers out of Drift’s valve slowly. He didn't return them, instead trcrawling upwards, valve and spike smearing lubricant along Drift’s chassis as he went. He stopped just before Drift’s mouth, leaning an arm against the wall and peering down at his mate.

“Open.” He commanded. Drift’s vans shrieked, there was no other word for that sound-and his mouth popped open wide. Ratchet sank down, valve directly on Drift’s glossa. Fluid gushed and Drift gulped it greedily. He’d always loved the taste and he knew the noisy slurps spurned Ratchet on. He didn’t do it for long, instead bringing his glossa in to play fairly quickly. His mate could get so impatient when it came to his valve. Normally he’d risk the punishment-but he wasn’t going to attempt it with the challenge hanging over his head. No, he had something to prove and Ratchet was finally letting him do something about it.

His glossa rolled around Ratchet’s rim, flicking at the node when he found it. He circled and twisted, following patterns known only to him. It didn’t take long for more lubricant to leak onto his face and Drift quickly found himself distracted as he tried to drink it. He knew he was missing drops, knew it was covering him at this point. The smell wafted- he inhaled deeply. It was just as intoxicating as the rest of his mate. He nuzzled into Ratchet’s valve, burying his face into the deep warmth.

“Drift.” Ratchet’s warned. It would be his only one, Drift knew, to try to get him back on task. In response Drift latched his mouth onto the rims and _sucked._ Ratchet’s engine gave a surprised rev. The medic’s thighs shook ever so slightly as Drift slowed down the pace, letting his glossa dart in and out, teasing the same slow build Ratchet had give him.

“Best idea I’ve ever had,” Ratchet moaned as he rocked his hips, stroking his spike. “I don’t have to hear you and you can run your mouth all you want. Should’ve done this ages ago.” He rocked slightly more forcefully when Drift managed to get his glossa in just a little deeper. Calipers clenched down, cycling and the pulsing biolights of Ratchet’s spike filled what little vision not covered by Ratchet’s thick thighs. Drift's glossa quickened its pace, starting to lunge in and out. Ratchet rocked harder, hands keeping up with the pace he set, Drift’s designation falling from his lips in between little gasps and grunts.

Charge arched in between transformation seams and Ratchet moaned deep in his throat. “Gonna-” was all he got out. Drift wasn’t tapping out though, he knew what was coming. Ratchet didn’t disappoint-he overloaded with a yell, thighs clamping down on Drift’s face. HIs valve clenched hard at Drift’s tongue and he continued to wiggle it, drawing out Ratchet’s aftershocks. HIs spike shot a string of fluid, most of which landed atop Drift’s helm.

“Yes.” Ratchet dragged the word out, praise filling through his field and licking at Drift’s. “Good boy.” He slid his body off Drift’s face when he managed to get it to obey him, snaking down him so he laid flat atop his speedster. “ _Very_ good.” He praised again, staring into Drift’s dirty face, smeared with his own lubricant. He got the inexplicable urge to taste himself and did so, kissing Drift with all he had left in him.

The speedster’s charge was now crackling down his body, his vents coming in harsh pants and his fans running high. He gave a choked whine when Ratchet pulled away, but didn’t follow, instead keeping to his orders. Ratchet let the praise fill his field again.  Drift wiggled under it, struggling, Ratchet noticed.

He knew this was difficult for Drift-he preferred restraints. Drift could let go with restraints, could get lost in them. Without them he had to focus more on his orders, had to constantly remind himself he couldn’t touch.

Of course Ratchet had intended it that way. This was a challenge, after all.

“Permission to overload, Master?” Drift’s voice was hoarse and static filled-it was enough to send a small line of charge down Ratchet’s back, even though he knew he was spent. 

Ratchet considered it. Let Drift see he was considering it. He sat up, stretched. Eyed Drift’s leaking valve and heated face, the barely repressed charge dancing between transformation seams. His spike stood at attention, pre-lubricant dribbling down it. The biolights decorating the sides of it made the sticky lines glow as they tracked down, matching the pulsing lights near his valve.

It was a beautiful sight. Ratchet savored it for a moment, as well as Drift’s pleading field.

He made a show of looking at the chronometer above the door, then smirked.

“Nah kid, I got work. So do you in fact.” He made to get up. “You have permission to move freely.”

Drift whined, legs trying to wrap around Ratchet's waste, to pull him back in. “Please,” He tried, bucking his hips against the medics, but Ratchet shook his head.

“You wanted to play rough today. You gotta live with the consequences.” Ratchet leaned forward again, a finger teasingly tracing Drift’s leaking valve, “ Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you overload after work.”

He untangled Drift’s legs from his hips and stood, leaving Drift groaning on the berth, a sinful smile on his lips as he began the process of cleaning up. “Your standing orders are; you are not touch yourself or do anything that may cause a potential overload. You have to suffer with that,” He threw the towel between Drift’s legs, “all on your lonesome.”

A loud, desperate whine came out of Drift this time, and by the immediate flush of his face, he hadn’t meant to vocalize that one. Ratchet pushed praise and lust through his field, letting it brush against Drifts-he loved nothing more than reinforcing Drift’s noises. It had taken them a while to get there-for Drift to be comfortable enough to make any noise at all and he treated every accidental one like the treasure it was.

Not that it stopped him from leaving Drift there.

“Fragger.” Drift hissed, forgetting himself.  Ratchet just laughed at him as he walked out the door.

Ratchet had released his prior orders, but he hadn’t stopped the scene. They had just begun to do this-stretch sessions for a day instead of just a scene or two. Drift had been excited to try it-had been begging for months in fact, desperate to continue subbing outside of the berth. Play games that weren’t just sexual and more about service. The idea didn’t just give him pleasure- it gave him _peace_. Peace he couldn’t seem to get anywhere else. It was so far from the mindset he’d possessed as Deadlock’s that he only truly felt different when doing it, and just thinking about  do it with Ratchet as his master? It made his spark spin faster with pure want.  Even with his explanations and excitement though, Ratchet refused to rush into it. Instead he had been gentle with what his standing orders he’d left his sub with, insisting they go slow.

Apparently today was the day he’d graduated to harder tasks.

“Pit-spawned fragger.” He cursed again while he cleaned his interface array and tried desperately to ignore the charge lingering in his systems. He acted for all the world like he was furious but deep inside?

He loved every bit of it. 


	3. Beat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that we're working in a, not AU exactly, but a continuation where certain bots aren't dead and Drift wasn't kicked off the ship. A sort of limbo IDW-verse. 
> 
> ::Comm speak:: 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: No sex this chapter, but there is mentions of past failed relationships, self loathing, manipulation, ill intentions in regards to sex, body issues, and very light mentions of the continued session/play Ratchet and Drift are having.

 

555

Mystery Skulls

But I know it's not what you wanted  
And you just wrote this fuck and bought it  
It's like I haven't got a clue, and  
Yes, things just might be strange  
Keep pretendin' it's okay

* * *

 

 

The second he was away from Blaster, Rung had gone to look for Skids.

It wasn’t difficult. He was leaned against a table, energon cube in hand as he talked animatedly to a group of seated mechs. They sent him looks Rung didn’t like the look of as he approached, but he kept his eyes on his lover.

“Skids, might I speak privately to you for a moment?” He asked the moment he’d caught the larger mechs attention.

“Anytime you want, Rung.” and damn him if the way he had said that hadn’t been suggestive. Rung didn’t know how he managed to do that, turn their every encounter into a sexually charged one.

He felt his faceplate heat up-which wasn’t helped when one of the mechs at the table cat called after them as he led Skids away.

“Whadda wanna talk about?” Skids asked as they came to a stop in a more private corner of the mess hall. A loose smile decorated his lips, a hand running down Rung's arm. 

“Ah, well-”

A high pitched whistle hit the air and Rung jumped as a mech sauntered past them. “Don’t do anything too naughty out in the open guys. Magnus is out and rearing to write mechs up!” Was the laughed follow up, and Rung pointedly didn’t look at who had said it but voice alone told him it was Getaway. Skids winked at him, shouting back a thank you. Embarrassment ate at Rung-to get called out in such a manner was really trying his patience. But he shoved it aside and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. Telling Skids he was unhappy with all of it in a calm manner.

Communication was key in relationships, after all.

“-that.” Rung finished, lamely.

Skids blinked at him, focus flicking back from the other mechs. “What?”

“That.” Rung waved a servo. “All the...comments. I’m pleased you have enjoyed our relationship so much as to want to brag, but I’m very uncomfortable with it all.”

Skids look became amused. “Ah, Rung, you don’t have any reason to be embarrassed! I swear to you, everyone’s just jealous I got to you first.”

“Oh I’m sure.” Rung muttered sarcastically, but continued on in a louder voice before Skids could speak.  “I would really you prefer to not talk so openly about what we do. Or at least not with so many details.” He said instead. He tried to project sincerity in his field, along with a touch of just how badly he wanted the attention to stop.

Skids face softened, hand resuming its strokes. “Alright.” His field pressed against Rung’s, expressing his amusement yes, but also his apology. “I won’t tell all the sordid details if you don’t want me to. Even if it’s to make everyone extremely jealous that I got the prettybot.”

“Flatterer.” Rung accused, servo coming up to cover the one rubbing his arm. He squeezed it-Skids dropped his arm to hold his servo and squeeze back.  

“No just telling the truth.” Skids promised, smiling wide. “Sorry I upset you.”

“No need to apologize-I wasn’t clear.” Rung smiled back at him, then dropped his hand. “And I’d like to take you on a proper date tonight, if you’re available.” He removed his glasses, cleaning them gently while letting his optics show. Something he rarely did for anyone, but he felt it was appropriate given the circumstances. Sure, they had had several dates at Swerves, but the bar was were almost everyone went. It wasn’t really romantic either-and Rung was a romantic at spark. “I have a few ideas I’d like to run past you, if you have the time.”

“Date? Echoed Skids. His fingers, which gone down to tease at Rung's hips,  froze. Confusion crawled slowly into his field. Rung let his fill with confidence and affection-Skids likely thought they had been on “proper dates” and he didn’t want to insult the mech before him. Courting had been a different beast entirely back in his youth and though most of it was out of date now, it didn’t stop him from wanting to indulge.

“Yes.” Rung confirmed. “Proper probably wasn’t the best choice of word to use. I mean a more old fashioned date-that is if you’ll humor me.” He gave a small smile to Skids, happy with the way this all was going. Perfect relationships did not exist-could not of course, because there was no such thing-but the closest one could get was a good relationship. Good relationships meant communicating and compromising. Informing a partner when something came up that was upsetting and giving apologies when needed. Rung was pleased that this relationship, one he had so much fear about, was consistently turning out much better than he had even imagined.

Except Skids field was now entirely filled with confusion, despite Rung’s explanation.  The smile slid from his face, his optics going unreadable.  “Sorry Eyebrows, but dating’s not really my thing.” He added slowly.

“Of course.” Rung corrected himself easily-making notations in his head about Skids preferences out of practice. “We can progress with what we have currently, and keep the dates more casual if that is your preference.” It was still fast after all-even if they had slept together. It was common for many bots to move at a much slower pace and a more formal date was often something mechs now a days waited on, or were uncomfortable with until they knew their partner better. If that was the case, Rung wouldn’t rush him. Except Skids was shaking his head, his expression melting from the confused one into something else entirely. Rung felt a flick of-guilt? Go through his field. For a minute he stood confused, staring at the mech who had shared his berth only a few hours earlier.

“Primus, Doc-Rung” He corrected immediately. “I think there’s been some communication mishaps here cause I like the arrangement you and I have right now.” He gestured between himself and Rung. “I wasn’t looking to change it.”

Rung got a bad feeling. A very, very bad feeling.

“Describe to me please,” He said slowly. “What it is you think we have?”

“You know. We’re a,” Skids struggled for words, optics staring into his. He gestured again between himself and Rung. “Friends.” He finished lamely. “With benefits.”

“Friends with benefits.”

“Exactly!” Skids smile returned tentatively. “ I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Nothing of the sort. I uh, didn’t think we were going on dates. I just wanted some fun nights.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought we were on the same page about that.”

Rung rushed to review his memories-had Skids been that upfront about his intentions? Rung had been so careful-had carefully reviewed what Skids had said that led up to the point where Rung decided to follow Ratchet’s advice. He couldn’t recall it being that straightforward but then had he? Had he gotten so caught up in his own issues that he had just assumed?

“I’m afraid not.” Rung managed to get out, still desperately searching his memory for _something,_ some point where things had been clarified or spoken on-a point where he had screwed up. All that was coming to mind was a bunch of shameless flirting.  

Skids forced out a little laugh. “Well! This is good then right? We can get all this out now so we’re both clear.” He seemed to sense Rung wasn’t taking it so well though, and he dropped the sheepish smile to reach out and put a servo on Rung’s shoulder. “Hey it’s okay! I totally understand if you don’t want to continue now. I’d like to.” He gave the shoulder a squeeze. “I thinking we could have some great times together.”

Rung just stared at him, frozen, trying to find the place where he’d gone wrong. Skids had flirted heavily after the spark-eater incident, it was then that Rung had first took notice of him as a potential romantic partner. He had been inclined to brush it off, as he had brushed off anyone who’d tried to approach him for most of the war (a fat lot of three mechs, two of which were so drunk Rung was certain they were looking to go home with anything that moved, regardless of things like looks or what side of the war they were on.) but Skids had been charmingly persistent. He’d been a downright gentlemech on several occasions in fact. He had toned it down until recently-but Rung thought that had been because he was losing interest. Most mechs could only chase another for so long, after all. He had been making trips to visit Rung, but he had a bad feeling that was Ratchet’s doing and not of Skids’ own violation.

His processor scrambled, trying to come up with something, _anything_ , he had missed.  It seemed stuck,  giving him nothing more than flirt filled glimpses of the past few weeks. As if even his basic programming couldn’t figure out how he’d misjudged things so badly.  The only thing he could even remotely come up with was that he had read too much into Skids interactions, but even that didn’t make sense. Because really, his social skills might be neglected but they weren’t _that_ bad. He started to panic, knowing Skids was waiting for a reaction, but he needed something. Anything, that indicated where this went wrong. 

His thoughts returned to the beginning. Skids had been flirting heavily, and then backed it off. He’d only really picked it back up when Rung had finally returned his interest and even then if felt different. As if he wasn’t quite as serious as before.

The bad feeling in the pit of Rung’s tank got exceptionally worse.

When had Skids stopped trying so hard? It wasn’t that long ago. Around the time when-

It hit Rung. His optics popped and he jerked back, startling Skids.

“Uh, Rung? You okay?” Skids looked worried, arm halfway in the air between them  but Rung was too busy staring at him mutely in horror to answer.

The interest had faded when he’d revealed his alt mode.

His useless, unidentified,  _alt mode._

It felt like time had slowed. “This is because of what I turn into, isn’t it.” He said, feeling like he’d taken a punch directly to the tank.

“What?” Skids asked, staring.

“Why you do not-why you are no longer looking to  pursue a relationship with me. It’s my alt mode.” Hadn’t he overheard Skids once mention he looked forward to the day he could have sparklings? He had! And Primus knew how often Rung had been told how bad of an idea it was for him to procreate, least he passed on his _functionless alt mode ._

 _“What?_ ” The confusion was back in Skids field along with something like panic. He tried to reach out and touch Rung again, but he aborted the motion, thinking better of it. “What’s that got to do with this?” He asked, desperately trying to track the conversation. “Your alt modes not, I mean it's-alright okay, it’s awful we all know it's awful and I know mechs have issues with it! I mean who wouldn’t with something like that,  but that’s not what's happening here-!”

Though Skids later claimed he hadn’t meant to say it like that, that it’d just come out that way due to a mixture of panic and a need not to discredit Rung’s problems, it was one of the worst things that could have left his mouth. Rung, already caught up in memories of past fights centering around the very issue, took it both as an admittance and a reminder of his past failures.

“Its-fine. It’s not fine.” Rung corrected immediately, anger and hurt filling him so quickly it left him dizzy. “It’s what I’m used to. I should have known better-no one would want to get fully involved with me. Not in anything beyond a _quick frag. ”_

“Well we weren’t exactly quick that last time,” Skids tried to joke, but it sounded wrong to both of them. He backpedaled instead. “Look, this isn’t about you at all, it’s about me alright? I don’t know who I am-I might have a sparkbond or a mate or something out there. I can’t fully get involved with someone till I know, you know?” Skids was desperate now, not that it was getting through to Rung.

The words barely registered. Dozens of old conversations that went just like this one popped into Rung’s head. The words he’d tried to forget came loose, running him down gleefully.

_‘You know I want bitlets and I just-I couldn’t take that chance with you! Not with, well how you are.’_

_‘Rung really you were the best frag I ever had! It’s, well, you know I’m getting serious politically and I need someone who can help me on the campaign trail. Someone I can go out in public with. You understand, right?’_

_‘Where did you get the idea we could be long term?! I-I'm sorry,  didn’t mean it like that, I just, well I don’t want to be known as the mech with the alt mode redundant Conjux.’_

And more, and more. He really had tried in his younger years and it was all crashing in on him now. Things he’d ignored for so long he’d practically forgotten-or successfully repressed. He’d been so caught up arguing with himself about ethics and morals he hadn’t stopped to think.

Primus, was he stupid.

“You would know if you had a sparkmate.” He said coldly, feeling a million miles away and too close all at once. “There is no need to make excuses. You are hardly the first mech to back out because of my-” What had the Functionalists called it? Oh yes of course his-”condition. You do not need to dance around it. You wouldn’t be the first who just wanted bragging rights about fragging the invalid.” He held his helm high, his fingers clenching into tight fists.

Skids looked horrified. The expression helped Rung a bit, he hadn’t often been as harsh with his past lovers. He figured it must be age-he was simply too old to put up with other people's idiocy.

 _‘But is it really idiocy?’_ The thought was dark, and it snaked its way into Rung’s head uninvited. ‘ _Would you want to go out with someone like you, if your positions were reversed? Would you be so nice while turning them down?’_

Skids was babbling. Rung caught the end of it-“No, Rung I’m serious, you have this all wrong I didn’t even _think_ of that-” But he turned away.

“Goodbye Skids.” He said firmly, over his shoulder. “Please refrain from contacting me for a while.”

“Rung wait!”

He didn’t listen. For a moment he was worried that Skids might chase him-but he heard nothing behind him, and he slowed down to a normal walk halfway to his habsuite. By the time he hit his door his anger had dulled and left him with a rolling tank. The fight had called forth a lot of old demons. Old fears. He recalled mechs he hadn’t thought of for thousands of years, mechs likely dead. The thought didn’t make him feel much better. He ached, the sudden whiplash of feelings had caused such negative feedback that the pain nearly bordered on physical. He put his hand over his spark casing and sat down hard on his berth.

Thought about where he screwed up.

Rung should have known better. Did know better. He’d spent so long worrying about every other issue he’d completely forgotten about the largest one. Frag it all, at the end of the day it didn’t matter that he was one of (if not the very) last therapists, or that he had sworn a medical oath or anything remotely of the sort. To others, that didn’t even register as a hindrance, as a consideration- because no one would ever consider him as a serious romantic partner. A one night stand? Friends with benefits? Oh yes. His younger years had been fraught with all of that and more-so much more. He’d had more relationships fail the second they realized he was serious that for a while he had refused to be serious. And then refused dating altogether, when he had one too many encounters with mechs who heard about what he wasn’t and slept with him out of curiosity.

( _I took one for the team-we all wanted to_ know. ” _A pretty femme from his upper level theory class whose name he never wanted to remember said, “ If you could even-well, do this properly-since your alt mode is non functional.”_

 _“Could do what.” Rung’s voice remained calm even as his processor spun with the admittance. His antenna slicked flat against his head, the only tell he allowed himself that gave away just how upset he was as he stared her down in his small apartment the morning after. “Frag? Love?” And he couldn’t even remember how the rest of that argument had gone because it had been followed by several others, made by different mechs They all blended together after a while. Marked by ruined hope and diminishing self worth every-time a potential partner had seemed different and every time they proved they were anything but_.)

 _‘How did you manage to forget?_ _’_ The dark thoughts came back, taunting him. Thoughts that had been with him since his time with the Functionalists, filled with the sneering things he knew others weren’t brave enough to say.  Normally easily controlled, that self doubt locked away but today it all sprang free and swamped his processor.

Because it was _right._

How could he have been so stupid?

 _‘You will never have a real romantic relationship, because no one will ever be able to look past how worthless you are._ _’_  Rung wanted to protest. Wanted to shove the voice back, snap that he was worth it, that logistically someone out there would be able to look past his alt mode-would want to be Conjux with him. But he couldn’t. Not today. Not when the world was bound and determined to prove him wrong. He let his emotions wash over him, let himself have his moment.

He removed his glasses from his face, not remembering when he’d put them back on. The cleaning fluid trapped there released, free to track down his plating.

At least he didn’t have to worry about morals anymore.

xXx

 

Several hours later and Rung knew he should have canceled his afternoon sessions. Knew it deep in his spark-but he desperately needed the distraction. It had been working-most of his patients had stayed on topic and he’d only had to redirect two away from the subject of his love life-but none of those mechs were Whirl.

He definitely should have canceled Whirl.

The rotary was practically gleeful as he bounced into Rung’s office, hopping onto the berth and knocking his pedes together excitedly.

“I’d ask you how everything went, Doc, but I think I kno~ow!” Whirl’s optic was curved upwards, his field brushing with Rung’s to reveal the cocktail of emotions contained within. Rung wasn’t surprised that happy/horny/excited was the main mixture.

“I’m sure you do.” Rung said shortly, fighting hard to rein in his temper. “Shall we start today with an exercise?”

“Well that depends on the exercise. Is it the same one Skids’ put you through? Cause I kinda wanna see that one.” He leaned forward, nearly vibrating with energy. “Scratch that, I _really_ wanna see that one.”

So it was going to be one of those days then.

Rung steepled his fingers and tried to think of ways to keep Whirl focused.  

“That’s an inappropriate topic Whirl. I will not be discussing Skids, nor will I be discussing our relationship.” He hadn’t meant to sound as harsh as he did, and he winced, because Whirl picked up on it immediately.

“Oooh, trouble in paradise? Already!? Come on, tell ol’ Whirl about it!” Whirl patted his lap with his claws. “Is this about him braggin’ about you screaming in the berth?”

“No.” He could not lose his temper-that was just what Whirl wanted. A gossip filled tantrum. He’d been the subject of enough gossip for a lifetime, thank you very much. He repeated that to himself, a private mantra as he stared down the rotary. “It is not about his bragging, nor is it about him at all.” He sighed and tried to keep the pain at the thought of Skids away. “We are both just fine, and don’t need outside interference, thank you.” That came out a little bitter-and of course Whirl picked up on it too.

“You sure?” He pestered. 

Rung sighed again. “Absolutely. Everything is fine, Whirl.” He wasn’t quite able to reflect that through his field, and opted to pull it slightly closer to him instead. Just enough so Whirl couldn’t feel it. He’d get it under control in a moment, he told himself. Just let the pain ripple through it close enough where he could conceal it, let him have his moment. Then vent and let it go away. It was what he told his patients to do time and time again after all. Whirl wouldn’t even notice.

A click later he decided that the universe must truly be conspiring against him today, because Whirl definitely noticed.

Whirl’s optics narrowed. He stared, for a long moment and Rung felt the atmosphere change. He had a sudden memory of Drift discussing mech’s auras. He’d never admit it, but for a moment he saw some merit to it as he could almost physically see the shift in Whirl.

Who was now talking. “You’re lying.” He said, sitting up straighter.

“I am not-” Rung started, surprised, but Whirl interrupted.

“You are, you’re lying.” His field shot inwards, wrapped around him tightly. That was never a good sign-and leaned backward, helm making an odd, jerky motion. Rung purposefully relaxed himself. His dealings with Whirl meant that even with the negative emotions, he reacted by reaching his field out, trying to calm the helicopter down. He was able to erase everything but the calmness as he did it-at least, he thought he had anyway. He only bumped Whirl’s field once-Rung knew he how poorly he took to his personal space being invaded-and then let backed his field up. Let it hang invitingly in the air, showing he meant peace.

 _‘See? Not lying. Not lying at all. So let’s focus on something else._ ‘ He used the thoughts to help project a safe environment. _“'_ _Like anything other than Skids and I.’_

Whirl was unnaturally still. “Do I need to kick Skids' aft?” He said suddenly, helm tilting.

That caught Rung off guard. “What? No-” He protested, but Whirl wasn’t having it.

He didn’t like the way Whirl was eyeing him. When he wanted to, Whirl had better focus than a laser.  Rung felt all his secrets were being laid bare under that stare and he shifted uncomfortably, desperately trying to regain control of the conversation.

“He hurt you.” That was a statement not a question and he was having trouble understanding how Whirl had decided on that-regardless of him being right about it.

“Don't be ridiculous Whirl, he didn’t purposefully hurt me-” Rung started, then winced when he realized his mistake. “ -nor did he did not hurt me at all.” He corrected. “But thank you for your concern.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Most mechs he had relationship issues with seemed surprised he’d even consider being in one. Shocked he’d even think he could be someone’s Conjux. Their words weren’t intended to hurt. Just explain. Over and over again, how he wasn’t good enough. How nothing he could do could make up for what he was.

“You are so totally lying.” Whirl said it flatly and Rung tried not to wince. “ Yup. Yuuup. Gonna kick his aft.” Whirl  continued, hopping off the berth.

“Whirl, please. I do not need your interference, Skids and I have worked it out between ourselves.” Rung said, abandoning the cover of everything being fine.  He told himself he wasn’t giving anything up-this was a tactic Rung regularly employed. A lot of patients, most particularly Whirl, could often be talked down or distracted if you momentarily agreed with them.

“Yeah you aren’t doing so good a job convincing me of that, Eyebrows.” Whirl countered. He was moving to the door, Rung scrambled to get up and physically block him from it. Normally he would never do such a thing. Not to a patient and not to someone nearly as unstable or prone to violence as Whirl was, but he knew it was the only way to stop him.

And Whirl’s battle protocols were already starting to online. Rung felt the rotary’s surprise as Rung stepped in front of him, pausing and he didn’t waste his opportunity. Rung held out his hands in a placating gesture and projected as much calm and sincerity into his field as he could manage.

“Again, thank you for your concern Whirl, but we have it sorted out.”

He got another calculated look for his efforts. There was a tense moment where he thought Whirl might try to physically move him, but to his surprise, Whirl spoke instead.  

“If you tell me what happened, I’ll sit back down.”

Ugh. Bargaining.

He had always hated bargaining.

“Fine.” He said after another tense moment. “Sit first. Please.”

Whirl did as told, his field still tucked in safely against himself. He was unreadable like that-especially with his optic flat instead of curved or in motion. Rung guessed that was the purpose-he’d have to rely on body language alone to try to interpret. Words left unsaid, underlying tones and meanings were important in mechs like Whirl. Sometimes what was not said was the most important thing of all and the key to a behavior. Or the key to stopping an unwanted behavior.

Like Whirl jumping Skids.

“Skids and I had a misunderstanding regarding our relationship.” Rung said carefully, trying to decide on how little he could say while still satisfying Whirl. “We talked it out, and came to a mutual conclusion that we are incompatible for a long term relationship.” He might as well get it out now before Skids spread it all over the ship. “I do not regret what happened,” A small lie wouldn’t hurt right?  “and while I am sad it did not work out between us it is not something to fuss over. We,”  Rung caught himself, wondered if he needed to even say the next bit. He stared into Whirl’s optic, trained carefully on him and decided he had to, if only to get Whirl off his back. “We did not exactly end on the best of terms but I am confident that with time it will solidify back into friendship.” It would, he knew it would. Skids was a social mech and one who felt guilt easily. Rung was-or at least used to be-used to this kind of rejection.

It stung now, but it was his life-and really, his fault. He should have known better than to seek an actual relationship. Should have known that all that was wanted of him was meaningless flings.

He just wished knowing that made him feel better instead of worse.

Whirl was quiet for a moment, taking that in. His helmet tilted, ever so slightly, and Rung tried not to fidget under his gaze. Tried to project sincerity through his optics.

“I’m fine, Whirl. Really.” He added, when Whirl continued to be silent.

“If you say so, Doc.” Whirl replied, weapons finally powering down. “You know, you can change your mind at any time. Just ping my name and poof!” He snapped a claw closed. “No more Skids.”

“That is-” But Rung really didn’t have any words. He couldn’t decide if he was flattered Whirl seemed to want to protect him or annoyed at him overall. He settled for both and just sighed. “Thank you.”

Another pause. “Do you wish to continue on to the session?” He asked, wishing he could just tell Whirl to leave. That was dangerous though-he needed to calm Whirl down before he unleashed him on an unsuspecting world.

Thankfully, Whirl was nodding his helm. “You bet.” He said in a more normal, Whirl voice and soon, Rung was wrapped up in another grueling session of trying to figure out which of Whirl’s stories was real, which were fake and where to direct all the large mechs energy. An hour later and Whirl finally left, waving a claw good naturedly.

He was Rung’s last patient and he could only sigh in relief. _‘Finally._ _’_ He thought, locking his door and pulling out an old bottle of high grade. _‘Peace’._ He tried to sooth himself with the knowledge that this would all blow over soon.  It might take a few awkward encounters and he’d definitely be avoiding the bar for a while, but something else would come along. Be a new headline for a bunch of nosy mechs. He had enough experience to know his emotions would settle themselves eventually.

Of course nothing could be so easy.

Unbeknownst to Rung, his last patient was not happily making his way to the bar like he said he was going to. No, Whirl was going straight to the medbay, looking like a bot on a mission  with a field stained with hints of desperation, bloodlust and anger.

Not a soul was brave enough to get in his way.

They all cleared out entirely after Ratchet chucked Whirl out of the medbay.

Nope, no one needed to be around for that.

xXx

 

“Drift! Heeeey Drift!”

Drift’s hands instinctively went to his sword-he couldn’t help it around Whirl. The mech had the habit of bringing fights with him, and as TIC Drift had been dragged into brawls before, even while actively trying to stop them.

It was a lot harder than it looked when you couldn’t outright kill everyone involved.

But those thoughts sent waves of guilt crashing over him and so he jerked his hand away, laying them flat on his desk instead. “Can I help you, Whirl?” He asked, steadying his vent cycles.

The helicopter could moved surprisingly fast, and Drift had just pushed  himself away from his desk when Whirl proceeded to drape himself over it. He had to bend awkwardly to do it,  his elbows sending papers to the floor-as well as brought his helm uncomfortably close to Drift’s face.

Drift immediately regretted letting go of his sword.

“Look, gossip ain’t my business,-but I can’t help what I overhear, yeah? So I need you to go tell the Hatchet that he needs to talk to Rung. Like now. Like now now. Like comm him and tell him right now.”

“He’s working, Whirl.” Drift tried not to pinch his nose, instead refusing to look at the rotary. He didn’t have the patience for dealing with him today, especially not with his charge lurking just barely beneath the surface. Not that Whirl wasn’t doing a great job of killing it. “He doesn’t answer personal comms at work. I’ll just tell him when he gets off.”

“Drift, Drifty, Drift.” Whirl tutted. “We both know that isn’t true, not for you!” He threw himself backwards abruptly-Drift used the movement to pull his sword closer. Whirl bounced on his heels a bit, looking around the security room. “Don’t make me make a scene.” He threatened, field flicking out at Drift’s. There was just enough of a real threat there to make Drift pause, and he stared at helicopter. Analyzing.

It was times like these that reminded Whirl why no one would ever forget that Drift was once Deadlock. When he got that look in his optics, you could physically _see_ Deadlock’s presence. Weighing options. Deciding fates.

Apparently the stars were aligned today, because Drift slowly nodded. “Alright.” He said. “I’ll ping him.”

Whirl let out a vent. “Thank! You!” He said, pausing briefly between the words and letting a bit of his special brand of sarcasm show.

Drift eyed him wearily, but Whirl ignored it.

“Well?” He demanded, after a long moment. “Is he? Do I need to go get kicked out of the medbay, again?”

Drift didn’t answer right away, but cut off Whirl when he tried to speak again. “Ratchet’s going to him.” He said.

“Good. Goody goody good good.” Whirl went back to bouncing, and started to make his way out of Drift’s office. He paused before the door though, tilting his helm back at a nearly impossible angle. “And next time don’t argue with a mech when they’re tryn’ ta help you out. You’d think you didn’t want to get laid, sheesh.”

Then he was out the door and down the hall, fast enough that Drift would have to actively chase him if he wanted an explanation.

Drift didn’t bother. He’d long stopped trying to figure out mechs like Whirl. He just cycled his vents instead, opting for a brief light meditation session to clear himself before going back to work.

Might even keep the charge from coming back.

 

xXx

 

::Did you just say Whirl asked you?:: Ratchet tried not to make a face as he talked to Drift over the comms. He had been caught between panic, lust and scolding the mech when he commed him to begin with-Ratchet hadn’t been sure if Drift was calling for help (medical or to tease about the charge Ratchet left him with) and either way, he should be using his official channels for official calls or not calling him at all. Ratchet took his work seriously.

Even when they were playing.

He’d been so focused on it, in fact, that he was blindsided when Drift had another reason altogether.

::Yes.:: Was Drift’s reply. ::He’s very insistent about it.::

::About seeing Rung.:: Ratchet clarified, slowly.

::Yeah.:: Drift sounded distracted, clearly paying a decent amount of attention to said mech.

::I just kicked that stupid mech’s aft out of my medbay twice and not once did he say anything about Rung.::

::That's Whirl for you. You going to check on him? Because honestly he looked fine to me.::

Ratchet knew there could be a number of reasons why one could look fine one minute and require drastic medical attention the next. And on this ship, a good number of those reasons involved Whirl. ::When did you see Rung?:: He asked.

::In the hall about two hours ago.::

Yeah, two hours was enough time for Whirl to pull a nasty prank. Ratchet could vividly remember some of the nastier ones Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had pulled back on the Ark in a significantly shorter time. The kind that could seriously hurt a mech if done incorrectly. And well-Ratchet wouldn’t have put it past Whirl to do something that intended to cause pain. ::I think,:: He said slowly. ::I’ll go check anyway. Primus only knows if Whirl’s pulled something.::

A pause-Ratchet knew Drift was likely staring daggers at said mech.. ::Call me if you need back up. Or to chuck Whirl’s aft into the brig.:: He said.

::Of course. Ratchet out.::

He sighed, wondering what the hell had Whirl riled about Rung of all mechs. He didn’t actually think it was a prank, even if that was the first thing to come to mind. Even mechs as out of touch with sanity as Whirl had tells and Ratchet was very good at picking up the smugness that came with something successfully pulled off. Whirl hadn’t given off anything like that. But he was old enough to trust that nagging sensation in his spark, and he chose to follow it.

To be honest, he was hoping he had just misread Whirl. Or perhaps this whole call was a prank in itself. Ratchet didn’t like the alternatives. Because you never really knew what could happen when a previously available mech started dating-and Ratchet had seen a lot to know to never underestimate something like a private crush or fantasy. Particularly a ruined private crush or fantasy.

He turned to his on-duty staff, who were both badly trying to pretend they weren’t watching him.

“I have to go out. Comm me the second anything happens.” He instructed as he stalked towards the door-choosing to ignore the way Ambulon and ‘Aid were staring at him. “The very second, you got it?”

‘Aid opened his mouth-Ratchet had a bad feeling his protege was going to demand he submit to an examine first-but Ambulon beat him to it.

“Yes, Sir.” The mech said, completely serious-not that Ratchet didn't catch the elbow that had subtly jabbed First Aid in the side. He hated leaving the medbay, but he knew his staff. They were good mechs, (better than a lot of ‘Bots he’d served with in fact, not that you’d ever catching him admitting that.) and knew what they were doing. And that happily included calling Ratchet when they got in over their heads.

With a few final warnings and demands (and some not so subtle pushing by First Aid) Ratchet was finally out the door and on his way to Rung.

It took no time at all, and yet the nagging feeling only worsened. He rapped on Rung’s door and pinged him at the same time-letting Rung know just who was outside. He couldn’t imagine what all Whirl could have gotten up too, but he could imagine all the ways he’d wring his neck while he waited.

Too bad the second Rung opened the door, Ratchet realized that whatever it was, it wasn’t Whirl.

He took one look at Rung and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t bother sitting down, instead staring at his old friend.

“What happened.” He demanded.

And he knew Rung was truly upset-beyond upset-when his friends face crumpled instead of waving Ratchet’s concerns off.


	4. Loaded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would totally apologize for this fic not being updated in forever, except I’m not all sorry. I was headdeep in it when we had a few (unexpected, unrelated but within weeks of each other) deaths in the family, and I just wasn’t able to write at all for about a month. When I did start back up I found I couldn’t touch this one. It’s just been sitting, mostly finished, since shit went down initially and I’ve been avoiding it. But I can’t avoid it forever, and I told myself I’d get up off my ass and conquer it.
> 
> So haHA fic, I OWNED your ass!
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Massive emotional breakdowns, one party believing they are cheating/helping to cheat, mentions of a poly stuff though if you’re this far into the fic I’m hoping you knew it was going there, lot’s of self inflicted slurs, the usual mentions of murder and mayhem and emotionally beating the shit out of Rung! If I forgot to mention anything please do tell me and I’ll add it.

Let You Go ft. Great Good Fine Ok

The Chainsmokers

  
You end up alone, after all that you've done  
All that you've paid for  
Did you get what you wanted?  
You loaded a gun with all you were made of  
When you're alone,  
People don't think you know what you're made of.  
  
You were there for me  
And I was there for you  
How will I let you go?

* * *

  
   
  
Rung didn’t know if it was the uneasy field or that fact that it was _Ratchet,_ but something in him broke at the sight of his longtime friend. His face crumpled, coolant threatened to well and all traces of calm left his field.  
  
“Ratch.” He said it through a choked sob and the nickname, one Rung had never used even back when Ratchet insisted on going by nothing but it, was so effective Rung could practically feel the spike of worry in the CMO’s field.  
  
For the first time since he could remember, Rung couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
He didn’t see Ratchet move, couldn’t really see through the coolant escaping his optics and fogging his glasses. He was just suddenly there, arms enveloping Rung in a hug. Rung fell into it without thinking, hiding his face into the CMO’s chest.  
  
Ratchet rubbed his back, engine emitting a soothing purr. A reaction Rung would’ve laughed at had he been able-Ratchet hadn’t done ‘soothing’ in a long time. It was a miracle in and of itself his engine was even still capable of such a noise. But it did, and Ratchet used it, to his best ability, to give comfort.  
  
It was a little thing, but Rung was grateful for it.  
  
 He didn’t know how long they stood there. A while certainly-long enough for the door to auto-shut behind them. Ratchet had begun to rock gently, little swaying motions meant to pacify.  
  
When Rung’s vent’s finally began to even out, Ratchet spoke.  
  
“Why don’t,” He rumbled softly,   “You start from the beginning.”  
  
Rung took two deep vents but they weren’t helpful. Ratchet gave him time, not bothering to move them. If Rung wanted to stay in the center of the office than he’d do it, no matter if both of their backstruts would regret it later. He continued to rock them slowly, engine going, desperately trying to make the other make feel safe because fuck if he could remember the last time Rung had lost it.  
  
 He had a bad feeling it was before the war.  
  
Rung’s first few attempts to explain were waylaid by static until he finally vented hard, and produced a shaky; “Skids.”    
  
Ratchet did his best not to tense, knew he didn’t really succeed. If Skids had done...well anything, to get this much of a  reaction out of Rung then he wasn’t going to live long enough past this visit. Ratchet himself wouldn’t even have to get involved-not with mechs like Whirl and Drift aboard. Whirl for obvious reasons, Drift for-well, equally obvious reasons. They had plenty of mechs experienced in making people disappear quietly on board that Ratchet didn't think it'd take much prompting.   
  
Rung fought to get his vocalizer under control, taking a moment to pull back and remove his glasses. He didn’t bother to clean them-or his optics.  “He was talking about us- all over the ship and I had thought-had asked him, but we got off topic,” Rung’s not-quite explanation was interrupted by small, choked hiccups. “And I had assumed, so foolishly assumed, that he wanted-what he wanted-but he didn’t. He was just like the others, Ratchet.” Distressed, his field bumped Ratchet's, seeking comfort.  “Just like them.”  
  
“Just like who?” Ratchet asked carefully. Were there others aboard this ship Whirl was going to have to execute? He hesitated to get upper command involved in a revenge-murder situation, but he was certain he could at least talk Drift into making a good cover story.  
  
“Everyone.” Rung said.  He must have felt the confusion in the CMO’s field because he quietly added;  
  
“He doesn’t-didn’t- want a relationship. He wanted a-, a berth partner.”    
  
Just like that, it all fell into place. “Oh. Oh _shit.”_ Ratchet said. The human word sounded more vulgar, felt more appropriate. Not that Ratchet cared either way. He was too busy flashing back, to a dozen bars, a dozen conversations. A dozen conversations that were eerily similar to this exact one.  
  
_‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’_  
  
After one long shuddering vent, Rung started to sob.  
  
In all the centuries he’d known the therapist, Ratchet had never seen him break down like this.  Rung had a reputation for being calm in the face of anything, of keeping his temper no matter what you threw at him. Ratchet had personally thrown a lot. Rung had always been there, when called upon or not, with a steady hand, solid advice and an offered shoulder to cry on. Ratchet took one look at the shaking mess before him and knew that even if it was so far off, so out of character, this  was a long time overdue.  
  
It was his turn to be the pillar of support.  
  
Ratchet had known Rung had problems maintaining relationships because of his altmode. Had done his fair share of comforting through some of Rung’s worse relationships. Acted appropriately outraged on Rung’s behalf many a time, and had drunkenly defended him at more bars than he could count.  
  
As a medical professional-hell, even a med student-he’d known mechs would find Rung’s altmode to be a problem. It was a disability to most, a joke to others, and his time with the Functionalists had not helped him any in that area. Ratchet had been working as a field medic at the time and hadn’t been around for _that_ disaster, but the marks it had left on Rung had been obvious. Physical as well as psychological,  (and Ratchet had never been more happier in his life when Rung had finally ditched the damn wheel backpack, though it wasn’t lost on him that it had taken Rung the entirety of the war plus a few _Lost Light_ incidents for him to finally get rid of it.) and Rung still hadn’t told Ratchet all of what those fraggers had done to him.  
  
It was just one of those days were Ratchet could kick himself, because he _knew_ better. It didn’t matter that Rung’s never ending optimism made it seem like his shot at getting a conjux was the same as everyone elses. That the reason he wasn’t going for mechs was because of his job, or because he didn’t like anyone on board, or a hundred other reasons he’d given over the years. And yes, certainly some of them had been legitimate-but how many had Ratchet known were lies?  
  
How the hell had he forgotten?  
  
_‘Easy’_ He thought angrily. _‘ You didn’t. In the same way Rung didn’t-you both just let yourselves get distracted.'_ It was the fragging _Lost Light_ crew combined with the entire fragging war. You go from one, high stress situation to another, put Rodimus and Ultra Magnus in charge and then in the same room and of course you wouldn’t think straight. You were too busy dodging bullets and arguments.  
  
All the while Ratchet had been mentally kicking himself, Rung had kept going. His voice grew. Building and building until it was on the verge of hysteria, the kind he didn’t often see in a mech. The full blown breakdown, _First Aid get the tranq’s!_ ,  kind of hysteria.  
  
“This is my fault.” Rung said, vents coming in hard and fast. “This,” He nodding his head, gently bringing a fist down against Ratchet’s chest plate, “Is my fault. I was stupid, Ratchet. I’ve always been stupid, but I allowed myself to be distracted. To assume. You  _never_ assume in a relationship!”  
  
“How the frag is this your fault?” It burst out of Ratchet. His optics were wide, blazing. Rung met his stare.  
  
“Because I let myself believe anyone would want me when I _know_ better! When I know no one would ever take me as a serious partner! That anyone would want to be with the defect!” He said it with such conviction Ratchet’s armor bristled  in defiance.  
  
_“Rung.”_ It slips out in shock. He opens his mouth to continue, to argue, but Rung interrupts.  
  
“No.” A bit of normal Rung comes through, in the voice he uses to tell patients a particularly nasty lie they’ve told themselves is just that. In the voice he uses when he wants them to believe not just in themselves, but in him. In their recovery and treatment. He’s brought mechs back from the dead with that voice, and Ratchet wonders who it is he’s really using it on. Ratchet-or himself. “It’s the truth. It’s the truth I’ve been needing to face, for a long time.”  
  
A shaky laugh tipped out of his vocalizer. “I mean, Primus! If I were my own therapist I would have told myself to not focus on relationships and find joy in other things! I would have never given hope to finding a relationship, I would have steered the session instead into how to live a fulfilling life without one!”  
  
Ratchet snorted. “That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.” He said, reaching out to wipe a coolant streak leaking out from Rung's glasses. “  
  
It was Rung’s turn to snort. “Don’t give me that. I’m too old for it.”  
  
“You’re also too old to be spewing this slag, that’s for certain.”  
  
“Please don’t.” The therapist looked at him, dead on, not willing to let the conversation go down that path. That might have worked for him when he was younger-might have been what he needed then. It wasn’t what he needed now. He had to accept this. Denying it would only harm him in the long run.  His head was finally starting to clear, and with it he realized that look on Ratchet’s face-his old friend wasn’t going to give up so easily. That was alright-because it wasn’t giving up. It was accepting the situation, and Rung knew how he could get him to do that. “We both know denial will no longer work for me.” Ratchet opened his mouth-likely to argue, and Rung was quick to beat him to it.  
  
“Name one.” He challenged. “Name one mech  who would court me. Choose to be conjux with me. Name one mech who wouldn’t be bothered, in anyway, by my altmode.” He knew Ratchet wouldn’t be able to. Knew Ratchet would only name someone he was absolutely certain of, because that was how Ratchet worked. He wasn’t the kind to disillusion, was likely only doing it now because he had done so when they were younger. The medic hated giving up-on anything.  
  
This time there was no other option.  
  
They would both have to accept this. This was the healthiest outcome. Pretending otherwise would just hurt the both of them the more they tried to make it true.  
  
Rung was expecting a pause of some kind, or at least a bit of a struggle before Ratchet accepted defeat. He was not expecting the medic to immediately blurt, “Me.”  
  
“You.” Rung said, raising one of his eyebrows and giving the medic a _look._ The kind that said ‘nice try’ and ‘thanks but I know you’re lying’ all in one. They might have been close, close enough for Ratchet to flirt and playfully fondle him, but Rung was under no illusions. Ratchet did that to everyone he was close with. It was the key component to his personality that shocked those who didn’t know better. He might have toned it down since his party ambulance days, but that didn’t mean it was gone.  
  
Except Ratchet’s field wasn’t playful. It was filled with resolve.  
  
Determination.  
  
Truth.  
  
“Rung.” Ratchet said softly, in the tone you used to confess, and suddenly that sinking feeling was back because Rung _could not handle this_ , “I would take you in a sparkbeat.”  
  
“Don’t do this.” It’s out of Rung before he could stop himself. The panic his field, bubbling out of him. He started shaking again-only realizing it when he caught sight of his own hand. “Ratchet, please. Don’t do this.”  
  
“It needs to be done.” Ratchet’s voice was gentle. His hand, resting on Rung’s shoulder, gave a small squeeze. “I’m not lying. I would’ve taken you back then.” They both know he meant in med school. Neither one needed reminding of the few flirty passes (and the one semi-serious one) Ratchet had made previously.  
  
“You wouldn’t have. Not how I needed.” Rung said. The hysteria was coming back. So was the coolant. He removed his glasses and wiped his optics, trying to get a handle on himself.  
  
“I offered.” Ratchet countered.  
  
“You weren’t serious.” Rung’s vents were coming in harder-hard enough to make them rattle. He kept his optics locked on Ratchet’s face, waiting to catch the lies, waiting to see the truth.  
  
“You know I was.” Ratchet did his best not to respond  to Rung’s increasingly poor reaction. “You turned me down.” His field, still mixed with Rung’s, showed his honesty. Showed how much he meant it.  
  
“You couldn’t commit!” Rung burst out. His vision was starting to blur, jagged static lines running across it. His HUD filled with warnings. Something squealed in his hands, he belatedly realized he was still holding his glasses. He dropped them blindly, knowing if he held them any longer he’d break them.  
  
Ratchet watched them fall. _‘Ah. So that’s what it was.’_ He thought. Aloud, he said; “I would have. For you, I would have.”  
  
“I knew you Ratchet!  I was your roommate! You came home with a different mech every weekend, if not multiple mechs  and you _enjoyed_ it. You were the life of the party. You might have been fine at first but we both know you would have regretted hooking up with any single mech for long. Far more importantly-being attached? To _me?_ With how I am?” Rung gestured to himself with a shaky hand,  “I would have ruined your career! You would have never gone as far as you did if you were joined permanently with me. And I _knew that_ Ratchet!  
  
And I knew you wouldn’t have complained, that you would never say it but you would have resented me! For holding you back. For being-for being an invalid!”  
  
“Who the frag told you you were an invalid?” Ratchet snarled. Rung waved him off.  
  
“It was more than just you-It was me. I knew that there was a good chance-more than a good chance, it was a _statistically probability_ that we would fail as a couple. I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t-still can’t-handle losing you. You have been such an  important part of my life, one of the few people I am attached to and can call a friend and I know myself-knew myself well enough back then-to know the fallout from a failed attempt between the two of us would have had a massive negative impact on me!”  
  
“Rung-”Ratchet tried, but the smaller ‘Bot wasn’t listening, hands making jerky motions as he ranted.  
  
“I could never let myself have you, because I’d want to keep you and I knew you couldn’t do that. I knew I couldn’t ask that of you. I needed you, Ratchet, as a friend and I could never risk going for more!”  
  
“You can risk it now.” Ratchet said suddenly, taking advantage of a pause Rung took to vent.  
  
“What?” Rung demanded, confused.  
  
“You’re right. You are absolutely right.” Rung had shrugged off Ratchet’s hands before his rant had began, and his wild gesturing had taken him a few steps back from the CMO. Ratchet closed that gap now. “You amd I probably wouldn’t have ended well back then. But you’re also right in that you’re important to me. You were protecting yourself back then, I get that-and you had every right too. But we’re older now. We’re different. In all the right ways.” He was close enough to see Rung’s wide optics, the way his chest rose and fell. How his antenna slicked back in distress.  "We can start were we left off."   
  
_“What?”_ Rung demanded again, seemingly confused, lost and angry.  
  
Ratchet didn’t bother to explain. Knew Rung wouldn't listen to words. He just kissed him instead.  
  
Rung gasped into his mouth-or perhaps tried to yell, Ratchet wasn’t sure in reflection. He just knew the therapist’s mouth had popped open and he took ruthless advantage of it. He kept his hold light, giving Rung ample opportunity to pull away-and when he realized Rung wasn’t returning the kiss he backed off. Breaking it, Ratchet was ready to apologize but glad he’d made the attempt.  
  
It surprised both of them when Rung’s mouth immediately chased Ratchet’s. The smaller bot seemed to snap out of his shock, and his arms rose up, to lock around the back of the CMO’s neck. He made a needy noise in the back of his throat-which instantly had Ratchet bending back down to make kissing easier.  
  
It took them a while to stop.  
  
“Is kissing to rid a person of a breakdown a normally prescribed medication?” Rung murmured when they finally did. They hadn’t let go of each other, faces close and lips barely apart. He was hesitant to pull back-unwilling to break whatever spell they had suddenly found themselves under.  
  
“Only for the cute ones.” Ratchet responded.  
  
That did it.    
  
“I have never been cute!” Rung protested with a laugh, slowly lowering himself back down off the tips of his pedes and letting his hands drag down Ratchet.  
  
“On the contrary,” Ratchet said, mocking Rungs voice playfully, as he straightened, “You have always been cute.. Especially when you're frustrated and you huff and pout when you think no one's looking.” He let Rung go, but stayed close unwilling to step away.  
  
“ I have never done anything of the sort! And if I did, at least it’s better than what you do. Throwing wrenches around and yelling like a loud buffoon.”  
  
“Aww, buffoon. That's a great nickname!” It was sarcastic, but the kind meant to poke fun rather than insult. Rung snorted and grinned-finding the action was reflected on Ratchet’s face. They smiled at each other until the joke faded-and the smiles slowly slipped away.  
  
“You really are serious then?” Rung asked. He rubbed an optic carefully, his fingers pulling back in surprise when they didn’t encounter his glasses. He touched his face having forgotten he’d pulled them off.  
  
Ratchet glanced on the floor-sure enough, Rung’s glasses had landed near their pedes. _‘Damn lucky we didn’t step on them.’_ He thought, before bending to retrieve them. Rung held out a hand expectantly, but Ratchet held his own back as he rose. Instead of standing straight, he stopped so that his face was level with Rung’s. “Kiss me again and find out.” He responded.  
  
He smiled, this time deviously at Rung’s raised optic ridge. “ You can tell a lot from someone by how they kiss.” He explained, “For example; how much I care about you.” He placed a kiss on Rung’s forehead. He felt the smaller bot grow still, and let his smile widen as he moved down,  to Rung’s nose.  “How much I admire you.” He said, lips right above Rung’s nose. He placed a light peck there before drifted down again and fought to control himself as he started to feel Rung’s faceplates heat. “How much I value you.” The last kiss he placed on Rung’s lips. It was chaste, nothing like the kiss they had just shared.  His grin stayed as he finally straightened, enjoying the embarrassed disbelief filling the smaller bots field.  
  
“You have been more than an amazing friend Rung and even if this does not go anywhere, even if this ends here, I will always treasure you. No one else I know deserves it more.” His field was serious and Ratchet pushed it forward, making sure the smaller bot knew he meant it all. He held out his hand, the one holding Rung’s glasses. The therapist took them, smiling up at Ratchet.  
  
“Oh? Not even Drift?” He teased.  
  
Ratchet snorted, half rolling his optics. “Primus no, kid doesn't do well with mushy stuff. I could just imagine the look he’d give me if I said-Rung? What's wrong?” He hadn’t liked the way Rung had abruptly stilled, face frozen in a look of sudden realization.  
  
“Drift.” He said it in a way that Ratchet could only compare  to breathlessness in humans.  
  
It wasn’t a tone he wanted to hear again.  
  
“What about him?” Ratchet asked, concerned. He ran a medical scan out of reflex, unsurprised to find he’d run a few without even realizing it since he’d come here.  A medic's instinct could overrule almost anything, apparently.    
  
“Drift-your-” Rung seemed to struggle for the word for the moment, and settled on “romantic partner!”  
  
Ratchet almost laughed-had to cut himself off as he realized how upset Rung was. He and Drift weren’t the most open people in terms of exactly what they were to each other-but everyone knew they were together.  
  
He wasn’t surprised Rung had leapt to the conclusion they were monogamous-because really they sort of were. They hadn’t dated anyone since agreeing to take a third, hadn’t gotten that far. They had gotten far enough to discuss protocols for courting -and Ratchet was well within the agreed upon boundaries.  
  
Their decision was something they wanted to keep private until they had found a mech that worked with them-or at the very least one they could both agree upon to court. It wasn’t something they had wanted running amok on the Lost Light.  Even Rung had been excluded, purely because they had been considering him as an option and then forgotten to bother once he got involved with Skids  
  
Explaining it all to him now seemed inappropriate,considering what the therapist had just gone through.  
  
Of course, so was kissing Rung without informing him of things  
  
_‘Good job Ratch. The kid’ll never let you live this one down.’_  
  
“You-you need to leave.” Rung was saying, and Ratchet belatedly realized he was still talking. “You need to leave, now, and tell Drift-or not, Primus I don’t know!” He hadn’t thought Rung’s antenna could go flatter but Ratchet watched as he was proven wrong. The slim metal practically disappeared into Rung’s head. “This was a mistake made in a highly emotional situation and it cannot ever be more than that!”  
  
“Well that’s stupid, it’s already more than that.” Ratchet said, and then regretted it immediately. He couldn’t help himself-he blamed his job. Medics just didn’t survive working this long without turning developing a need to call out idiocies.  
  
“Listen to me.” He said, in a somewhat desperate bid to keep Rung’s attention on him rather than ranting. “It’s stupid of us to pretend this didn’t happen, and it’s even stupider to think this isn’t going to have an impact. We’ve always had a connection and ignoring it now won’t help us any.” He looked hard at Rung, trying to project-pit he didn’t even know what. Something. “We need to deal with it.” He added.  
  
There. That should calm Rung down enough to get him to talk rather than shoving him out the door at least.  
  
“Perhaps.” The little mech said. “Perhaps.” He repeated, saddly. “But we missed each other. We were right for each other at the wrong time, and there’s no fixing that now.”  
  
“We can always fix it.” Ratchet interrupted before Rung could build another rant off that.  
  
“We cannot. Not when you have Drift.” Rung spoke with conviction. The kind Ratchet knew he was going to have to be careful with. He had one chance to explain this right-without fragging up.  
  
He stayed silent for a moment-thinking.  Trying to figure out the best approach. There were things he’d rather not bring up given Rung’s mental state, things he’d rather say when they were both thinking clearly. It was too easier for this to slide into bad territory-for Rung to think any offer of Ratchet’s was out of pity or a straight up lie. It would be best if he didn’t mention they were looking at Rung specifically as a third-not right now, after this mess with Skids.  
  
Of course considering he kissed the mech, not mentioning it might be worse.  
  
_‘Damn it all, Ratchet, you moron.'_ He cursed at himself. He knew better than this-knew better to stay silent, certainly, and the only excuse he had was the same excuse he'd used to keep Rung talking to him. They had a connection. Apparently, it was the kind of connection that could cloud a mech's common sense.   
  
Rung was waiting for an explanation and he knew he’d better start. If his friendship with him was going to come out in any way at all, he had to say something.  
  
He only regretted Drift wasn’t here with him.  
  
“This isn’t-” He started but then thought better of it. “What you and I have is a lot different than what Drift and I do. I love Drift but he isn’t, well, he and I have been talking lately-” It was difficult, trying to get out exactly what he wanted to say and  apparently he was doing rather poorly because Rung immediately took it for something else.  
  
And promptly exploded.  
  
“Don’t you dare! Ratchet you old fool, don’t you dare tell me you would throw what you have with Drift away! What we’ve done here-the lines we’ve crossed here is enough! You  don’t have a perfect relationship with him, you have a healthy relationship and that’s better because that’s _real._ I can’t ruin that for you anymore than I already have!”  
  
It was the third time Ratchet had felt the panic build back up in Rung. The stress was going to kill him long before anything else at this rate and Ratchet just plain couldn’t stand to see Rung go through it all again.  
  
_‘You know what? Frag it.’_  
  
“We’re looking for a third.” Ratchet finally blurted out. Frag being careful. Frag trying to say this nicely. Just-fuck it. If he was going to screw up he could at least have said his piece-and blunt seemed to be working the best today anyway. He thought it might be a good plan of attack to just keep with it.  
  
It certainly shut up the therapist.  
  
“You know I’ve got an unusually high interface drive.” He continued, looking at Rung’s shock-slacked face. “Drift’s the same. Which would work great for us if it weren’t for our schedules. We’ve had a pit of a time getting time off together just to relax, and I don’t think I need to tell you how a high interface drive that isn’t regularly and properly discharged can affect a mech.”

Bless Rung, he didn’t say a thing about how it could affect a mech’s _mood_. Ratchet had thought he’d escaped the thought entirely-that Rung was too strung out to even think it-but the glint in his friend's eyes had told him the truth. Which was so typical of him-pit deep in a meltdown and he could still recall small little details. Fragger.  
  
“Your solution to this was to bring in a third mech?” Rung choked out, voice small  and staticky.  
  
“Well, that and the thought of having a triad got both of us so riled up we had greatly added to our own charge problem.” Ratchet freely admitted it. “The more we thought about it the more right it felt. A third would balance us. It would be, what we ultimately decided and agreed upon, the best decision we could make as a couple. Unfortunately, most the mechs we thought were available to ask weren’t right for us.” It was important to clarify that-that though interfacing was the main issue and had brought  the idea to light-it wasn’t the only reason they were looking for a third. Though Cybertron had boasted a trine or triad type relationship as long as it had boasted a pair type, the latter was still significantly more popular than the former. The rarity meant a lot of mechs mistook a triad for something more kinky than a real relationship. There had been countless stories of pairs asking for a third only to just want a mech they could interface freely with, without actually adding them to their existing relationships.  
  
Ratchet and Drift had spent a long time talking it over-and had decided that interface issues aside (something that honestly, could be fixed in a variety of ways beyond simply adding in a third person) the idea of a third strongly appealed to both of them. Drift had talked all sorts of nonsense about auras, destiny, and spark connections-things Ratchet had mostly shrugged off (and rolled his optics at, once he was absolutely positive Drift could not see him do it.) but had later sounded right. He had played around  enough to have been in a few relationships that were more than a pairing, and though Drift openly admitted his own dating experience was significantly less than Ratchet’s (whose wasn’t?) he had thought long and hard about the repercussions of adding another mech.  
  
In the end they’d both agreed.  
  
Triad it was.  
  
“We were very careful to discuss potential partners who would fit well with us in all aspects of our lives, someone who wouldn’t assume we only wanted them for the interface portion. In the end? The only mech we could name was you. Had it not been for Skids, we would have approached you about it.”  
  
In fact, Rung being available again was going to send Drift over both the damn moons, but Ratchet was determined to give him options. Blunt or no he was somewhat trying to be careful here. Rung was in a bad place mentally. He was convinced no one would accept him in a romantic sense and quite literally in the middle of a breakdown.  While there, Ratchet _kissed him_ and then dropped not one but two mechs willing to court him. Status as a psychoanalyst or no, even Rung was just as susceptible to basic emotions and manipulations as any other mech in a stressful situation.  
  
Ratchet would be damned if Rung accepted just because he felt no one else would ever offer.  
  
“Drift barely knows me.” Rung’s optics shuttered, stunned.  
  
“Most mechs barely know you.” Ratchet countered. He hadn’t meant that to be as harsh as it was, could see the hurt flash across his friends optics, but he kept going.  “Most mechs barely know _me._ Drift barely knew me-the real me- before he started courting me. That’s what the courting process is _for.”_  
  
“Drift has never shown any interest in me.” Rung started again.  
  
That got a small laugh out of Ratchet. “Yes,” He said, “He has.” He can see the disbelief, the uncertainty. “ Has Drift ever flirted with you?”  
  
Rung’s answer was immediate. “No, he has not.”  
  
“Try again.” Ratchet said, leaning back.  
  
Rung to his credit, didn't immediately deny it again, didn't insist he was right. He instead reviewed, looked back. Ratchet let the affection he felt at the sight leak into his field purposefully. This is why he had always admired Rung-so few would actually step back, react like he did.  
  
“No.” Rung repeated. “I do not recall a time when Drift has ever flirted with me.”  
  
“Not even at that “Christmas Party” that Swerve threw?”  
  
“When he complimented my finish?” Rung frowned, eyebrows tilting inwards. “That is a common compliment given to others.”  
  
“Fine. How about at the general meeting two orns ago when Rodimus tried to declare war on a planet for insulting his paintjob? Or at the last game night at Visages? The time on Hedonia? Or when he helped you move the new filing cabinets into your office? The time you saw him in his office? Or the times he’s stopped you in the hall? You can’t deny those-I witnessed two of them myself.”  
  
“I- I did not think that those, I had not considered, did not consider-”  
  
“‘Course you didn’t.” Ratchet rolls his optics but make sure his field stayed playful. Accepting. Loving.  
  
“We’d like to court you. Both of us. But I don’t want you jumping at this because of all of this.” He gestured between himself and Rung, knowing Rung would understand. “I want you to think about it. You know it’ll  be equal between us three. Don’t do this because of how you are thinking of yourself right now. Don’t you even dare think that this is your only shot.”  
  
Rung snorted at that, but Ratchet ignored it.  
  
“I mean it. Drift and I are a package deal. I know you and I would be a good pairing. I believe that you and Drift would be as well, and that the three of us together would work. But I’m not you and I’m not Drift. I can’t make those decisions for either of you-all I can say is that Drift’s interested. We’re interested.” He held Rung’s optics, now completely serious. “And I want you to think on it.”  
  
Rung stared at him for a moment, examining. Analyzing. Ratchet belatedly realized that not a lot of mechs saw this look-Rung weighing options and making decisions. This was how he worked-and this look-the inability to keep his face clear of expressions was one of the reasons he wore his glasses.  
  
“I-I need time.” He said finally. His voice was still raw with static, but it was firmer than it had been.  
  
Ratchet took it as a good sign.  
  
”Take as long as you need.”  Ratchet said. He reached out, clasping a hand around Rung’s shoulder. Giving a gentle squeeze, he added; “And as much as I’d like to frag you into that damn berth, prove to you just how much you are wanted,  I’m gonna walk away. You’re worth more than you know, Rung. More than I can put into words. No matter what you end up deciding, or how all this goes down I want you to know I am always here for you.”  
  
Rung slowly raised a hand up, placing it over the one Ratchet had on his shoulder. He gave it a small squeeze, and followed it with a shaky smile.  
  
“Ratchet.” He said, looking up.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Ratchet pulled him close, cherishing how Rung’s helm ducked under his. “Anytime.” 


	5. 555

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up doing an odd combination of splitting and combining these last two chapters. I did go back and edit the last four chapters. I didn't make any major changes, just cleaned it up. It no doubt still has a bunch of mistakes-mostly because I'm edit blind but also because that's how it went while I was figuring out AO3 and shit-but I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and encouraged and generally pulled me ever so slowly back to this fandom. Pretty sure I'm stuck here for life now.
> 
> Warnings: None really. This chapter's pretty tame.

 

Freaking Out

Mystery Skulls

I can't fight this feeling.  
It's not in my head.  
And I know it was something I did, baby.  
I can't fight this feeling.  
I'm out of control.  
Got to get back to the life that I know!

* * *

“Rung commed me.” Drift burst into their habsuite, making a beeline for the couch, where the CMO sat.

“And?”

“He wants to talk to me.” Drift’s optics were wide. “ Alone.”

Ratchet can’t help the laugh that breaks out of him. Drift looks half thrilled, half panicked at the idea, even if he had to know it was coming. Ratchet hadn’t told him everything, had kept private what he thought Rung wouldn’t want to be shared, but he had to let his mate know that he had floated an offer. Technically he shouldn’t have-both partners should be present when a pair made an offer to a third, but it’d come out regardless. He knew Drift wouldn’t mind-had already approved of Rung as a potential third.

Sure enough, Drift had been overjoyed.

Not so happy with Skids, but most definitely thrilled.

“Would you like some advice?” He asked, putting the datapad he’d been reading down.

“Yes!”

“Ask lot’s of questions, particularly about him. Anything from if he’d like energon to more personal matters. Keep him engaged in the conversation-don’t let him lead.  Lot’s of light touches to show affection and whatever you do,” Ratchet leaned forward, putting emphasis where it was desperately needed,  “do not let him sit in that damn chair. You want to avoid anything that will have him fall into a work mindset. He will try to fall into his work mindset. It’s just what he does. He doesn’t have enough people he sees regularly off work-therapy mode is an automatic thing for him.”

“Ask questions, lots of touches, no chair.” Drift repeated, all but pacing in front of their couch. “Okay.”

“When are you supposed to meet with him?” Ratchet tried to hide his smile, or the fact that he found Drift’s unusual nervousness cute. This side of the ex con wouldn’t be shown to the crew, would vanish entirely once he stepped out of their habsuite. No matter how worked up Drift got Ratchet always felt privileged to actually see it. Be allowed to comfort when most others weren’t even aware something was wrong.

“After his next appointment ends.”

Rung’s appointment sheet was an open access file. He never put patients names, but he always made sure he had some open slots available for people to schedule at different hours, and thus, anyone on the crew could access the sheet. Sure enough Rung’s next appointment ended-

In 30 minutes.

Drift’s schedule-one that the crew was not privy to but Ratchet was, told him that Drift had just gotten off. Meaning he’d come straight here, to have a bit of a panic before meeting up with Rung.

 _‘Do not laugh. Do_ not _l_ _augh.’_ The mantra didn’t exactly help and Ratchet had to cough to hide a chuckle.

“Alright.” Drift said, after his sixth time crossing the room. “Alright. I’m off.” He stopped in front of Ratchet, vents heaving in a sigh.

 _‘Poor kid, worried over a first not-date.’_ Thankfully Ratchet knew how to get his sparkmate out of his bouts.  
“And Drift?” He called playfully as Drift began to walk away,  “Don't fuck it up.”

Drift’s optic ridges furrowed in a frown. “Thanks Ratch.” He said sarcastically.

Ratchet just grinned at him.

There. That would fix Drift’s nerves. No matter what he said, he never failed a direct challenge.

 

xXx

“Hello Drift. Please, come in.”

Rung’s field was calm, his body relaxed and Drift is immediately regretting not doing this in his office. He should have followed Ratchet’s advice on that-but he had wanted Rung to be comfortable. His office was on the command level, where the top two mechs who made others feel terribly uncomfortable resided-and he hadn’t wanted to risk either of them interrupting. Rodimus especially, was known to just barge in without knocking.

There was also the matter of how some mechs were uncomfortable around _him._

Drift knew how he still appeared to some.  How threatening some mechs took him to be. He was moving further and further away from his image as Deadlock but he’d never erase it, just as Deadlock would never truly be gone. No amount of cleansing or prayer could undo centuries of training, of living, of fighting. Meeting Rung on his own terms had been the better option in every way-except it made Drift _extremely_ nervous.

He took a vent, clearing his field and tucking the emotions out of the way as he always had, and gave a smile. “Hello Rung.” He stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Is the afternoon treating you well?” He knew it couldn’t be, that Rung still had to be upset, or agitated in some way. He and Ratchet both had been surprised that Rung had called Drift so soon after their conversation.  They both thought he’d take at least two weeks. The mech was hiding it well though, Drift couldn’t pick up on any distress at all.

Of course that might have been because Rung was seated in his chair.

_Dammit._

Drift’s processor raced as Rung repeated the greeting, stating he was fine and asking after Drift. The speedster, made polite small-talk as he struggled to put himself back on track. So what if Rung was in his therapist chair. It  was okay. What else had Ratchet said? Lots of questions and light touches?

He could do that.

“Can I ask you a question?” ' _Oh smooth Drift, just ask if you can ask_.' He resisted the urge to palm his face with his hand and instead took a seat opposite Rung, thankful the mech had another chair in the room besides the one his patients used.

“Of course.” Rung said.

“How many kinds of candy do you have shoved in that drawer?”

 _‘Oh God Ratchet is going to_ murder _you.’_ Leave to him to destroy everything before it’d even started. Rung was quiet for a moment, no doubt blown away by how Drift’s IQ chip seemed to have abruptly deactivated, before casting a look down at one of his drawers.

“About...27?” He hazarded.

“Care to name your favorites?” Drift asked. He was already committed to boarding Train Crazy, he might as well ride it out till the end.

After a short moment in which Drift briefly wondered if Rung was comming Ratchet to see  if something had gone wrong, or, more likely, if he was scanning Drift with those glasses of his (that was what they were for right? Some kind of patient scanner? Drift couldn’t imagine any of their species needing specs for _poor vision_.)  But bless Rung to the pit and back, the mech finally leaned forward in his chair and began dutifully reciting his favorites and why they were so.

A ridiculous amount of time later spent talking about fragging candy, and the frantic worry was starting to come back. He carefully slowed and evened out his vents, hoping Rung didn’t notice. Wing had taught him the technique, as a way to combat the anxiety that Drift typically hide by turning it into anger. It was something he’d spent a long time working on, knowing how poorly he managed it as Deadlock. Drift could do better though, had done better and he wasn’t going to let a not-date knock him off course.

He’d taken down everything from glorified Autobot Commanders to feared Decepticon units. By himself. He could fragging well clear his nerves enough to make pleasant conversation.

A few more evened vents and an awkward end to said conversation, Drift knew the topic  had to move onto something else. Quickly. Unfortunately he knew what they needed to discuss. There was a reason Rung had called him down here to talk. Just as there was a reason Drift had agreed.

There was some things they both needed to get out into the light.

“I’m the one who suggested you to Ratchet as a possible third, you know.” He said, after it was obvious they couldn’t drag the candy conversation out any longer and were sitting in a somewhat uncomfortable silence.

Surprise shot through Rung’s field, too fast for him to cover up.  Drift grinned at him.

“I thought Ratchet had told you that?”

“He did.” Rung said carefully, optics still a little wide. Drift’s smile gentled.

“You didn’t believe him.” He guessed. Caught out, Rung nodded, giving a small smile of his own.

“No. I didn’t. May I ask why you suggested me? Did you know we were friends-?”

“I knew you were friends yeah. I didn’t know how close-I floated you as an option based on your aurora. It’s very complimentary to Ratchet’s-and to mine.” Which was true, somewhat,  though the way Drift said it was more a  way to feel Rung out than an actual admittance. Ever the atheist, Ratchet had let his feelings for Drift’s more spiritual side be known through a variety of snide comments, eye rolls and quiet sighs. He’d been doing his best to respect Drift’s beliefs since they began dating, but he wasn’t always capable of letting it go without comment.

Or at least, without a comment he thought Drift couldn’t hear.

He didn’t know what Rung’s feelings on the matter was and he was more than a little curious to find out.

“Are they?” Rung asked. “May I ask how?” He was picture of polite, fingers laced and laying atop his lap.

“Our personalities blend together very well. We have weaknesses that are covered by each others strengths-and you balance us. More than that, your personality complements ours  very well.”

Rung gave a small smile. “Does it?” He asked.

Sensing a sort of disbelief, Drift nodded and provided an example.

“Absolutely. Remember that time I was late to one of the crew meetings? I had to sit in the back with you and Ratchet instead of in my command seat. And both of you spent the entire time making snide remarks?”

 “I highly doubt either of us would ever do something such as that-”

Drift kept going as though he hadn’t heard Rung talk. “Ratchet was talking about Roddy-’Kid’s so hungover he looks like a convoy class hit him’ and you said something like ‘It’s a pity it didn’t reverse and finish the job” and I laughed so hard I had to leave the room?”  

Rung blushed. “I ah, may recall something like that, but my intentions were-”

Drift ignored him again. “That’s when I knew I wanted to get to know you better.” He said, which shut Rung right up. “When I realized I got the same feeling around you as I did Ratchet. This feeling of wanting more-more of your time, more of you. The real you-the one you don’t let through enough.”

“I was under the impression you were close friends with Rodimus.”

“Oh I am.” Which was weird in and of itself, how quickly he could claim that. How natural it felt to do so. Deadlock had never had friends. Rivals, bosses and underlings, sure. Idols even. But never friends. And not someone as close to him as Roddy was. Not since-

_‘Don’t think about him, you don’t need to go down that path.’_

_“_ Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing him get it every now and then. His ego deserves some bruising. Especially from someone like you.”

Rung chuckled quietly at that and Drift knew he had scored some points. _Finally!_

Rung’s field changed a little then, from the  carefully- neutral flatness  it had been.

“I appreciate the turn you’ve taken in this conversation and I think it’s long past my time to air some things.” Rung said and ah yes here it came. I like Ratchet but not you. You’re a crazed ex-Decepticon. No, no, Rung would be polite about it. Say something like _‘I have some concerns.”_

“I think you have proven you are not solely here because Ratchet pressured you into it.”

Drift’s own eye ridges shot upwards at that but Rung was still talking.

“And I myself would like to assure you I have thought long and hard about our coupling. However there are some things I need to raise, before we can continue.”

“Like?” Drift said, slightly thrown but still convinced of the path this conversation was taking. He’d expected this, had formed some rebuttals, but this wasn’t coming about the way he thought it would and so he found himself scrambling to re-order his thoughts. It was so hard to discuss it in a way that didn’t make light of all the things he’d done, that didn’t make it look like he was creating excuses-but he could do this.

 _‘Vent, Drift.'_ Wing's voice said in his head. _'Vent and listen.’_

“I realize this is far off from where we are now-but these are things I think need to be considered. Some things that should be brought up, before their relevance is upon us down the road if that’s the path we choose to take. So,” And Drift internally braced himself, kept his face blank. He’d been expecting this, had been afraid of this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get passed it. Rung was well within his rights to question Drift-and his past. His admittedly poor life choices and his actions.  

”Would you really, truly be okay being with someone like me?” Is what Rung ended up saying, and Drift worked hard to keep the surprise off his face and field.  “Carrying with someone like me, if that’s what we decided? There would be a chance any sparklings I aided in creating would gain my altmode, or one like it. A _useless_ one.” That had been spoken with a bit of self -derision, one Drift absolutely was not expecting out of the otherwise always-optimistic therapist. He was astounded to realize he wasn’t the only person in this room with baggage relating to his past.

“Would you be alright,  being known as the mech with the defunct Conjux?” Rung was staring at him as though these thoughts had never drifted through his head.  As though they weren’t something Ratchet had brought up, even inadvertently, while discussing what had happened with Rung and Skids. Drift knew better than most the things others would balk about in a given relationship. What lies people would tell to get things going then and now, only to back out and bail later. He hadn’t anticipated Rung’s fears-not exactly, mostly because while Ratchet had hinted, he hadn't told Drift outright about them,  but he could get around them. Because he had his own. Because Ratchet had given him the answer, whether he realized it or not. Both while talking about Rung-and while talking about Drift’s past.

“I wouldn’t be known as the mech with the defunct conjux.” Drift corrected, when it was clear Rung was waiting for a response. “I’d be known as _your_ conjux, as well as the Hatchet’s conjux.” He’d used Ratchet’s hated nickname on purpose. It spoke of the reputation Ratchet carried. About his volatile temper, his alcoholism, his work ethic. It spoke of his acceptance of that reputation, and the acknowledgment of the actions that had inspired the name.

“You have a better reputation than you think, Rung. People don’t think of you as your alt mode. Not that it would matter to me if they did, because I would be honored to hold both of those conjux positions regardless. My conjux choices are not based upon popularity contests.”

“I want to make sure you are certain-it’s one thing to say it and another entirely when mechs start in on you-”

“Rung,” Drift said, exasperated but fondly, “It’s not me here who has to think about the long term consequences of us becoming Conjux. I was a Decepticon. Not just any Decepticon.” Drift stopped, took a deep vent. It always hurt to talk about Deadlock, about what he’d done. He hoped as time went on it only got harder-the farther he could be from that person the better off he was. “I murdered a _lot_ of people Rung. More than most any singular person in this war has. And I _enjoyed_ it. I did a lot of damage before I found my way. There are not many who trust me, aren’t many who believe I have fully reformed.” He didn’t blame them for that. Who knew what friends or family of theirs he had killed? Who knew the extent of the damage he’d caused in mechs he walked around with?

Yeah. It was perfectly fine if they were suspicious. If he was in their place, he’d be the same. Less forgiving even.  That fact was one of the things that never really ceased to amaze him, because he knew perfectly well that if the tables were turned, if someone who had spent a lifetime on the opposite side of a brutal war succeeding in a murder spree suddenly flipped a switch and proclaimed changed, he wouldn’t believe it either. There were entire lists of reasons most the mechs onboard this ship were better than him, but that one was right near the top.

Their ability to forgive, their ability to see past what he was, their ability to give him a chance was something he would never take for granted. In Ratchet’s case-and Rung’s now- the mere fact they were considering him as a life partner was astounding. Which was why Rung had to hear this-and from him.

“Even before the war I wasn’t…” _Useful, worth anything_ , “a good person. I was a gutter mech with a  drug addiction.” Which Rung probably knew-his aversion to drugs even as Deadlock had been well known. “I have a lot in my own history that could affect any future sparklings. My own reputation has long been damaged-but yours hasn’t, not the way mine is. Do you want to be known as my Conjux? The ex Decepticon? The druggie? Do you want to be known as _Deadlock’s_ conjux? You could be targeted. You _will_ be targeted, by my enemies. By those who want revenge. By those that will hurt you to hurt me, and I can’t promise you they won’t Rung.”

It was a similar speech he’d given to Ratchet who had optic rolled his way through it. Ratchet however, had ended the conversation by both stating he’d thought long and hard about his own choices, and then making his ability to defend himself known.

Using a wrench and Drift’s helm.

Deep down though, Drift knew Ratchet was more than capable of defending himself. Knew that as the CMO, and long before, as the Prime’s own medic and a medic with a clinic in the slums, Ratchet had always been targeted. More than Drift had even, at some points. His reputation was equal to Deadlock’s in notoriety and in that way, they were equals. Ratchet didn’t need a defender. He had one, in Drift, just as Drift had one in Ratchet, but at the end of the day, though Drift was the better fighter, he could trust Ratchet to survive most situations.

He wasn’t sure of that with Rung. So the warning was more than important.

“Your status as a defector doesn’t mean anything to me.” Rung started. “And I have considered the varying issues concerned with dating you.” A good thing, because Drift had been about to insist he at least take a few days to go do just that.

He wasn’t getting in a relationship with someone who wouldn’t take the dangers of dating the ex-Con seriously. He was happy to see Rung _had_ already thought it over-without needing any prompting.

“I understand your concerns.” Rung continued. “And I hope you understand mine as well.”

“I do, and will.” Drift promised. “Your concerns require just as much attention as mine do. I assumed they would largely play a part of feeling out this relationship.”

Another small smile. “Yes I think they will.” The therapist agreed.

“On that note, I think,” and it was odd to see Rung without his glasses (he hoped then it wouldn’t be, eventually. That he got to see those pretty optics more than most others did.) “That I would like to start slow. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Start slow? Start what slow?

 _‘Do not lose your mind now, Drift.’_ He warned himself. _‘Let Rung talk.’_

“I cannot promise that this will work out-no one can promise that. But I would like to give it a try. With Ratchet-and you.” And for the first time Drift realized that he wasn’t the only person in this room who was nervous. He could see it now, plain as day, in the way Rung fiddled with his glasses, fingers never still. The way his optics looked ever so slightly to the left of Drift-giving him the appearance of looking at Drift but not quite actually doing so.

That made all this easier. So much easier.

“Why don’t we set up a few dates? Some with you and me by ourselves, some with all three of us.”

Drift gave him a relieved smile. “Sounds good to me.”

He’d completely forgotten half of what Ratchet had told him to do by the end of all of it-but with suddenly clarity he remembered the bit of advice about touching and with warmth in his field, Drift let it nudge up against Rung’s while carefully placing a hand over the smaller mechs.

The therapists plating flushed, but his field returned the warmth-his hand turning over under Drift so they could rest palm to palm.

It was a small start-but a start nonetheless.

 

 


	6. Stuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic back when I first fell back into this fandom-I think I had read a total of like, six MTMTE comics when I started 555 and hadn't seen any of the TV shows in forever. It was also my first jaunt back into creative writing in this format-I'd been primarily writing screenplays and pop journal articles. As such, this fic has loads of issues and problems, and while I did go back and edit it, I'm sure many still exist. It was a good return for me though, got me hooked right back on Transformers, and I'm as I said I'm super thankful of everyone whose helped in pulling me back in. 
> 
> So here's the ending this fic deserved.
> 
> Warnings/etc: D/S relationship, poly, sex toys, stretching, ties, withholding sex. If you see anything else drop me a note!

Paralyzed 

Mystery Skulls

You've got me hypnotized,  
I'm feeling so obsessed with you.  
You left me paralyzed.  
And now I'm stuck,  
You've got me stuck.

 

* * *

Beginning of the Courting Phase

 

“I didn’t think you were serious!” Rodimus whined, rubbing the armor on his arm that Drift had just about slapped off.  “You didn’t tell me it was that serious!” 

“Well, I am. And if you do that again Roddy, I’ll break your arm.” Drift’s optics were narrowed, fists clenched. Rodimus was a close friend of his, closer than everyone else. As close as Gasket was-and he wasn’t afraid to admit that now. He’d done awful things in the name of both mechs, and he wasn’t shy anymore from admitting that reality. 

Rodimus had been the first person to truly accept him since Gasket. The first person he’d admitted faults and feelings too-the first person who hadn’t tried to change or shape him. He loved Wing-he did, and would always-and he’d needed the change Wing had forced on him but Drift knew a lot of his personality was tweaked to make Wing happy rather than because Drift himself wanted it. Rodimus; chalk full of his own problems, hadn’t tried to force him into a damn thing. He’d just given him a drink and welcomed him aboard the “Super Fucked Up Train, on it’s way to PTSD-ville, population me and you, buddy. Choo choo!” 

That didn’t make what Rodimus had just done okay. 

No one insulted his court-mate like that, not even Drift’s best friend. It didn’t matter if it was a joke and wasn’t meant to be offensive. No one needed to give Rung any ideas that Drift and Ratchet were only with him due to the rumors that were now running wild about his sex skills.

“And quite calling him nerd.” Drift demanded, to which Rodimus rolled his optics and huffed. 

“Touch-ee!” The Primeling muttered. Drift waited him out. 

As always, Rodimus did, eventually, respond to it. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to twist your wires or insult your court mate. You wanna go for him bro, then he can’t do better than you.”    


“Good start.” Drift smiled, showing a hint of fang. “Now go apologize to Rung.” 

“Do I have to?” Rodimus went back to whining.

“Yes. I’d rather my family not make snide remarks about each other.”

That got him a look. “You are serious.” Rodimus said finally, all traces of his whine-y, obligation dodging personality gone. “You meant that.”

Drift felt his cheeks heat, but nodded. He moved forward to loop one arm around Rodimus’s. 

“Yeah. I did.” 

It was a small family-and a weird one, but it was his. His spark warmed at the thought and he tried not to grin while he continued to scold Roddy.

Because really, who knew things were going to turn out, this perfect?

 

xXx

Middle of the Courting Phase

“Alright.” Ratchet stormed through the door, not bothering to knock. “What the frag did you say to Drift?”

“What’s he doing?” Rung asked, because really, he’d had a lot of conversations with Drift. He needed a jumping point before he would have any idea if he’d influenced something.

“The damn kid is refusing to interface because apparently, he wants to prove to you that he’s serious. I told him that was fine but I sure as frag didn’t think that meant  _ I _ had to be excluded from interfacing. He disagreed.” Ratchet flopped down into Rung’s chair.

“Oh dear.” Rung said, turning to watch his friend claim his chair. “Unfortunately I am not recalling a conversation that might have led to this. How long has he been on a strike?”

Ratchet crossed his arms and leveled an exasperated look at Rung. “Month and a half.”

Rung optics shuttered.

Ratchet knew, because he heard them.

“See, I supported him originally, once he explained himself. I thought alright, kids a damn energizer bunny, he’ll come to his senses in two weeks and realize that whatever brought this on, large gestures like this aren’t gonna help it. Especially when you are starting a polyamorous relationship and all parties involved weren’t informed beforehand. Whatever you two talked about, it sounded like there was a larger underlying issue and his response to it was this idiotic- _ why are you laughing!? _ ”

“Pardon,” Rung gasped, finally giving up on hiding his laughter. “Pardon, sorry  I just was looking up the definition for ‘energizer bunny’ in the foreign species manuel Ultra Magnus provided, you know the one with the updated section that includes Earth cultures and languages? Apparently a human by the name of Verity made some edits to it.” Rung’s laughter had died a bit by now, reduced to giggles, but they still interrupted him here and there. “She placed slang definitions alongside real definitions accompanied by some, ah, commentary. That commentary has led to a section she wrote specifically about you.”

“Do I want to know?” Ratchet asked, voice nearly a growl. Fragging humans.

“It’s titled ‘So Ratchet Thinks He’s Funny’’”

“Little shit.” Ratchet did growl, that time. 

“It’s very amusing.” Rung’s giggles finally subsided. “But I think-I think he may be trying to prove that he-and this situation-is different from Skids.” They both ignored when Rung’s voice hiccuped a bit over Skids name. “Rumors of my former exploits is still one of the top conversation pieces.” 

“You know that this is different though. Drift knows you know this is different.”

“Yes,” Rung removed his glasses, looking at his court-mate fondly, “but logic and emotion do not always match up. Call him in. I can think of a few...excellent, ways to prove to him this relationship is both serious and mutual for all parties.”

Ratchet raised a brow, but commed Drift when Rung’s face curved into a small, silky smile.

Ratchet knew that smile.

::Better get to Rung’s office kid.:: He said as his own ventilation's caught. ::Before you miss out on the fun.::

xXx

End of the Courting Phase

  
_ ‘Patient 32 had a breakthrough today. It was a hard session, but the end was well worth it. His success has left him feeling fulfilled and achieved, particularly at how smoothly everything went. He expressed many doubts before we attempted to overcome his fears, but he did not once mention anything self deprecating by the end of the session. I consider that to be another success on its own We -” _

“Rung.”

Rung ignored the breathy moan, focused fully on his work. ‘ _ -will proceed with treatment, though I think it would be best if we went easy for the next few sessions. Patient could be in danger of relapsing or regressing-’ _

_ “ _ **Rung.”**

_ “- which could seriously damage the success we had today. Steps will be taken to insure the patient continues to feel good about breakthroughs and that treatment is taken at their own pace.”   _ He typed it swiftly but without mistakes, optics never breaking contact with the words on the screen. 

“Rung, please!”

Rung put the datapad down on his desk, turning to face the center of his habsuite. Drift was tied to a chair, pedes firmly secured with rope to opposing sides, hands bound together behind the back of it. The bindings were loose enough that he could move up and down, but that was about all. A massive toy was secured to the center of the seat, standing tall inches away from Drift’s dripping valve. (The box it came from claimed it’s name was “The Mountain” and labeled its size only as “challenging.” Looks alone showed it lived up to both claims.) Drift was hovering over it, back and pedes straining. He grunted harshly with the effort, trying to keep himself off the toy. 

“That must be a difficult position to maintain.” Rung observed. “Wouldn’t it be easier to have a seat?”

“No.” Drift groaned.

“No what?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his fingers.

“Sir!” Drift corrected quickly, as he lost footing and slid. He vented harshly as the tip of the toy teased his valve. His optics darted a glance at the chronometer hung over the door-Rung smirked as he caught it. 

“You know that was my last bit of paperwork.”  He teased. The lights in this habsuite bounced off his glasses, giving his expression an evil twist. “I had just a few sentences to go before you distracted me.”

Drift let out a low whine at that. “I can’t,” He huffed, cutting himself off as he made a mighty effort to move back up, “I-I can’t stay up, not for much longer, Master-!”

“I think you're underestimating yourself, Drift.” Rung said, watching as his mate struggled to regain traction, his efforts making the tip of the toy bob in and out. Fluid dripped onto its tip, lubricating it as Drift sank further and further down. “ And I do believe the agreement was you stayed up until I was finished?”

His question went unanswered, as his mate slipped again, pede skidding against the floor. “Primus!” Drift swore. This time the toy went in, firmly impaling him upon it. Drift’s legs had been tied in such a way that had made it more difficult for him to move back up once he’d slid down, and he struggled now, unable to get himself off the toy.

“Language.” Rung clicked disapprovingly at him. Drift said something that might have been an apology, but it came out as an incomprehensible static laced moan.

Drift was shaking now, optics giving a pleading look as he vented harshly. It got him no reaction. 

“Describe to me how it feels.” Rung ordered suddenly. 

“Big,” Came the gasp. “Oh frag it’s big, Master I don’t know if I can-umph!-take this!”

“You assured me you could.” Rung said, acting surprised. He leaned back , hands moving to hold his chin up. “In fact, you told me it would be easy.”

“T-that was be-be- _ ohprimusugh _ -fore!” Drift slid another inch, the toy now thoroughly covered in pink lubricant. Rung thought it was a lovely contrast to it’s maroon coloring. “I don’t know if I can stretch any wider.”

“Is it hurting you?”

“Yes.” Drift groaned, “No. Yes and no, Idon’tknow, Master-”

“Is it good pain or bad?” Rung ordered. “Answer honestly.”

Drift tried to think, throwing his head against the back of the chair. He stared at the ceiling, mouth open, oral lubricants glistening on his wet lips. He swallowed harshly. Hands clenched hard, he managed to hold his position as it was, without sliding further down. Rung could tell it was costing him though-Drift couldn’t hold that position much longer. His thighs were already beginning to shake.

All he had to do was wait.

“Good.” Drift decided, and Rung nodded. He cast a look at the stack of datapads on his desk, giving an indecisive hum. 

“I suppose I can stop there for the day.” He paused, letting the silence drag out for a moment before adding; “You may continue.”

Drift groaned louder, head rolling back and forth. He bit his lip hard as he lost the fight with his body and impaled himself further. Rung watched as the fake spike slowly disappeared into Drift’s valve. He could see from where he was how wide it was stretched, the fluids barely escaping. Drift was nearly to the base,  but it had one more challenge for him-a slightly larger bulb before it bottomed out. A sob caught in Drift’s throat as he hit it, and with an explosion of athletic ability he managed to heave himself upwards. He got nearly to the top of the toy, balancing dangerously on his pedes. Rung dropped his hands, ready to rush forward if Drift unbalanced the chair and fell, but Drift’s rebellion was over just as quickly as it had come. He dropped back down harshly, choking as the spike filled him. His valve stretched, swallowing the entire toy whole, aft finally hitting the chair.   
  


Rung could have checked his own chronometer, but he made a show of checking the one on the wall instead. “You lasted exactly sixteen minutes. ” Rung  said. as Drift gasped. He rose, moving to stand in front of his mate. “That is exactly one minute passed our estimated time.” His field filled with approval, nudging Drift’s with the sentiment. his Sub’s field responded immediately with relief-and pride. Rung hid his smile-the session wasn’t over just yet.. He watched as  Drift’s optics filled with lubricant, the tears tracking down his face as he adjusted to the massive spike within him.

Rung waited exactly one more joor, doing nothing but simply watching the speedster struggle up close, before finally, making his move. 

“Keep your hands where they are. You do not have permission to move.” Rung instructed, and then slowly began the processes of untying his mate. Drift did as he was told, holding as still as he could. Rung let the ropes caress against Drift’s ankles and wrists as they fell away, playing with his overly sensitive plating. When the last pede was freed, Rung knelt fully between Drift’s legs.

“I do believe you deserve a reward, don’t you?” He asked.

“Please.” Drift sobbed. “Frag yes, Master, _ please-! _ ”

Rung didn’t correct him this time, instead smiling and removing his glasses. Carefully setting them aside, he gently placed his hands against Drift’s parted thighs. “Thank me for the toy.” He ordered, the words barely out of his mouth before Drift was talking.

“Thank you, it was a great gift, Master, thank-” And Rung’s mouth cut him off, taking Drift’s entire, hard spike all the way into his mouth, in one go. It was one of the hottest things Drift had ever seen (and a trick Rung rarely employed) and he choked with pleasure. Rung set a fast pace, tongue and mouth often moving in opposite directions and within a few clicks Drift felt his charge threaten to blow over.

“May I-Master-”

Rung pulled off long enough to say “Yes.” before he was back at it, and it wasn’t long after that that Drift’s charge built until it exploded out of him. Rung swallowed the transfluid down, letting the physical charge blow over his plating. Drift collapsed back against the chair. Rung sat back on his heels, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Scoot to the edge of the chair.” He ordered softly and it took all Drift had left in him to comply. Slowly and carefully, Rung removed the toy from his valve, leaving Drift to feel extremely empty, valve clutching at nothing..

“Good boy. And that ends our session.” Rung softly kissed the inside of one of Drift’s thighs. Drift shoved him back lightly-and just in time as he slid out of the chair and onto the floor, landing mostly in Rung’s lap.

Rung chuckled. He waited a moment, simply hugging a limp Drift to him, before encouraging his mate to get up. “Come on. To the berth with you.” He said gently. Drift groaned but complied, standing on shaky legs. Rung helped him once he was up, and together they stumbled over to Rung’s berth.  Drift collapsed immediately, head firmly in Rung’s lap, audio’s filled with quiet praise.

They stayed like that for a moment, letting themselves fall out of their respective spaces.

“Gotta hand it to you, Rung, you do devious well.” Drift’s vent cycle was still off and his voice was slightly muffled as he buried his head further in Rung’s lap, but his mate understood him perfectly.

“Thank you, I try.” Rung rubbed his fingers in soothing circles in Drift’s back. “You did extremely well today. I’m proud of you.”

Drift’s engine gave a choked purr, something that caused both of them to smile. “You did too.” He said.

“You liked it then?”

“Loved it.” Drift said. “Was way better than I thought.”

Rung’s smile widened at that, love pouring across the bond. Drift returned the emotions. The two sat there, talking quietly until Drift fell into recharge. Rung continued his massage, content to just sit with a lapful of Drift.

He must have lost track of time, because the next thing he knew Ratchet was coming through the door.

::Primus, Rung, don’t tell me you actually wore the kid out!?:: The medic said over comms, optics raised at the sight of his mates.

Rung struggled to stifle his giggle, and barely succeeded. ::Well, I did have help.:: He gestured to the chair, and the still soaked toy that perched next to it. Ratchet shook his head, amused, and came up, leaning over Drift to softly kiss Rung.

He’d meant for it to be a quick kiss, but Drift must have sensed something towering over him, finally pulling out of recharge. Instead of getting up, he reached an arm out, grabbing blindly at the air until he hit Ratchet’s shoulders.

“‘Bout time you got off.” He mumbled into Rung’s leg. “C’mere.”

Ratched rolled his optics but obeyed, climbing carefully into the berth. One arm went around Drift’s waist, the other around Rung’s, and he pulled both the ‘bots closer to him. The result pulled Drift into his lap with Rung tucked snugly in his side, and the speedster reshuffled himself so that his legs were thrown over Rung’s lap as well.

Ratchet had experienced more interfacing in his lifetime than most, some of which was hot enough to permanently scar gentler mechs, but it was times like these, where his family was curled around him that he truly lived for.

_ 'My family.’  _ He repeated to himself, staring down loving at the two bots relaxing against him. _ ‘My sparkmates.’ _

Out of everything, being able to call them that was the best part.


End file.
